North of London
by Cakenbakin
Summary: Basically a little drabble about Margaret and John's feelings after he kisses her on the train and the ensuing changes that follow for their lives in Milton. Summary lacks, story does not! (probably)
1. Chapter 1 Her John

**Note: this is the right chapter, all revised up and stuff, with the William to Henry Lennox change**

**AN: so I couldn't resist, I had to do a North and South fic. This is my first one of this genre, so be honest, I love Thornton and Margaret, so I want to continue their story. Read and Review!**

How had she never seen him? Her hatred for him—no, for Milton, was too great to notice his face, the kindness hidden behind that mask of bitterness and derision. She could not, would not have seen it before, and now her conversation with his mother rang sharply in her ears, even as she stood, silhouetted against the cold grey of Milton sky. She had been accused of not knowing what sort of man he was, and now, in the strangeness of it all, she found that she knew. She found that she loved him.

When he had kissed her at the station, in front of Henry Lennox, she had been surprised. Surprised at the softness and the shy way his lips found hers, those lips, so often pursed in anger, or drawn into a hard line, relenting nothing, and yet telling so much. His life was not an easy one, she knew, but before she had resented it. Now, in the wake of their kiss, and the ride home, she could not help feel warmth towards his whole life, his past, his hardships, and yes, even to his mother.

When his mother saw her with John, and witnessed the easy way he smiled, like he used to but had not done since he was a young man, the old Mrs. Thornton could do nothing but draw her lips tight and allow herself a moment of precious relief. Margaret had saved them, she was sure, and the little beauty, so often defiant, and, like her son, stubborn, was now her saviour.

Margaret, noticing the expression in the eyes of John's mother, knew her thoughts, and allowed herself a smile at the recollection of the hug she had been so unladylike to bestow upon the older woman.

Now, after all that, she was engaged to John, and she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders at the thought, the wish to preserve yet give him all she was a conflict in her stomach. She wanted him to kiss her, to look at her with those blue eyes, and to tell her he would never leave her, and she wanted him like she had never wanted anything in her life. She was so close to being happy, and yet she was so far. Their engagement had been announced only days before, and for the sake of propriety, she was staying in the guest bedroom of the now unburdened home of his mother, but she ached to have him hold her, and to be close.

She was about to turn away down the hill when she felt two strong, masculine hands against her back. Turning in surprise, she saw it was John, and with a smile she threw her arms around him and he kissed her, the same gentle way as before, but with firmer hands on her face, and brought their bodies closer so her waist were flush to his waistcoat.

"John," she said breathlessly when they pulled apart, "we mustn't do this in public, we'll cause a scene." There was a smile in her eyes when she said this, and John waved a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Margaret," he said in that roguish way of his, "then we must disobey my mother."

"John!" Margaret cried, "my father taught me well. I must wait to do such things until I am safely married!"

"What things?" He said in a low, seductive voice, "I was only speaking of us being seen together. Really, I had no idea you were so base." The twinkle in his eyes deceived him, and Margaret, ever one to play the self-righteous maiden, gave a false gasp and, with a cock of her chin, began to walk away, saying as she did,

"My, you will have to pay for that, dear John." Without turning around, she walked all the way back to the mill-house and went to her room where she could no longer suppress her giggles. There she laughed like a child, and, upon recollection, realized how different John had become. He was still taciturn and serious mostly, but when he was with her the veil lifted, and he was kind and gentle, not that barbarian she has perceived him to be upon their first meeting.

She touched her lips where he has kissed her and vividly recalled the feeling of his mouth on hers, that foreign scratch of his stubble, those soft, curved lips, and her breath began to quicken again at the thought. Her sister was right, love did agree with one, especially if the lover was kind.

She went to the window then, to watch the workers and wait for John. She noticed familiar faces among the crowd, but never her fiance. Her vigil continued to supper, and, still not seeing him, she declined her meal, not sure why. Mrs. Thornton groused at her sons lateness, but to Margaret there was a much deeper concern. As their love was yet new, a pang of uncertainty gripped her stomach, and she soon sat back down on her bed, shaking her head to such thoughts. She never wanted to disappoint John, or ever upset him, and the worry that she had burned in the irrational, love sick place in her heart.

She fell asleep and dreamt that she woke blurrily to John, sitting on the edge of her bed, smiling with his head tilted to the side.

"You missed dinner," He said, "I hope that was not on my account."

"No," she replied, curling into him like a cat, "but I did miss you."

"Ah," he said softly, lifting her into his arms, "I missed you as well. There was a little business I needed to discuss with some workers, that was all." He kissed her forehead, then her nose. "I must go, dear."

Margaret mumbled and fell back asleep, not sure if what had just happened was a dream, or she had awoken. Either way she was sure she had misjudged this handsome, independent man who was to be her husband.

**AN: so I wanted to keep everything PG, for the most part, but I am thinking about making an M rating for later (it would be the first in the pool) but I'm not sure. Some Margaret/ John learning curb time might be necessary) R&R for another chapter! All ideas are welcome**


	2. Chapter 2 Women, A History

**AN: thank you all for the story alert subscriptions and the reviews! It makes a novice at writing such tales very happy. Anyway, for the time being I think the rating with stay T, but in future (or upon request, depending on the material this may change. Any objection, please review)**

**So, without further adieu...**

Margaret awoke the next morning stiff and hungry. She had all but forgotten her declined meal the night before, and sat beside Fanny, who was home from a tour of the continent with Watson, and now took it upon herself to render her services to her soon-to-be-sister-in-law on account of her being more experienced and more apt to plan "such social things."

Truly Margaret did not mind, for the time not spent drowning in lace was appreciated, though when Fanny insisted that she wear Honiton lace, like Queen Victoria, and also be clothed in white, Margaret shook her head and dismissed the notion. White wedding gowns were cumbersome, and in Milton, so apt to be damaged. She would not have a word of it and instead chose a simple yet elegantly adorned creme linen gown that swept off her shoulders and revealed her thin, but strong shoulders—almost mannish, if Fanny was to be believed.

Her veil she had chosen herself, all lace but not done in Fanny's style, and she had had chosen her shoes, respectable and practical things worthy of the occasion. Conscious that it was Margaret's money that paid for the affair, Fanny had done considerably less shopping for the wedding, and had thus resorted to sitting with her future sister-in-law and, Margaret was surprised—entertaining her with tales of the continent stories from her youth. She was not so bad as once pictured, and her exuberance grew as the days counting down to the nuptials approached. Only then did she broach the subject that, like spiders in her tea, Margaret had been studiously avoiding.

The afternoon started out like any ordinary one, with Fanny grinning and playing with her new pug, Napoleon, a gift from her husband, and Margaret, staring absentmindedly into the pages of Yates, thinking not of the poetry and the creative language, but of her fiance, and when he would return, so when Fanny cleared her throat Margaret looked up innocently, unaware of the jar she had opened.

"Dear Margaret, let me tell you," Fanny began, stroking Napoleon behind the ears, "as a woman married, it is my duty to inform you on certain—," she coughed meaningfully, "delicacies between a lady and her husband."

Margaret could see the direction of the conversation, and, feigning resigned acceptance, looked up and pointedly replied,

"I must lay back and think of England, Fanny."

"Oh no!" Fanny cried, horrified at that idea, "No, no, no, dear sister, you must not! Certainly not!" Margaret could not help but laugh at this proclamation, and, realizing her folly, Fanny reached over and swatted Margaret on the knee. "Oh, you can be cruel!"

"We do not need to discuss this," Margaret replied more soberly, "I am a woman grown, not some child thrust into marriage. I do believe I will be more than capable of dealing with my matrimonial duties."

"That is what _I_ thought," Fanny continued relentlessly, "but dear sister, you must know it is not like what you think. It is a woman's duty to be pleasing to her husband, so she must not lie limp like some rag doll cast aside. You must engage him, Margaret, and let him know how he hurts you."

"Hurts me?" Margaret's eyes widened with alarm, "he would never do such a thing."

Fanny pursed her lips and gave a self-satisfied nod.

"Oh yes, dear sister," she continued ruthlessly. "The first time you'll want to cry, but it gets better. Soon you will not mind so much, and you might even be with child. My marriage is too young to tell, but I am hoping I will be a mother soon."

"Mother?" Margaret did not know how to process that. She loved John more than her own life, but she could not imagine herself with children, especially after she had so nearly resigned her life to the realms of singledom.

"Yes," Fanny smiled, "How I long to be a mother. Dear husband and I try every night." She gave Margaret a conspiratorial wink, and Margaret felt her face drain of color. She knew, as most women of her age, the expectations of a wife, and then a mother, but felt woefully unprepared. No one told her there would be pain involved, especially not before a child was born, and so she hugged her book to her chest and sat listening to Fanny play with her puppy a little longer. They were only interrupted by John, who came to the sitting room covered in cotton. It clung to his hair and his shoulders and Margaret had to stifle a laugh. As nervous as she was she could not contain her joy at seeing him, nor her amusement at his state.

"What has happened?" she asked, standing to greet him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but then slowly closed it, as if not sure what response would be appreciated in the current company. That, or he simply did not know what exactly _had _happened to him.

"Oh you," Margaret swept to his side, picking fluff off his fine black jacket, and rolling it into a ball in her palms, "was it the fans again?"

"No, not the fans," John looked down his nose at his lovely fiancee, now so decidedly picking the remnants of... what he decided he didn't know.

"Then what?" she insisted, cocking her head like she had seen Napoleon do.

"At the end of the shift I was leaving the mill, and suddenly," he gestured to his clothing, "I was taken upon by some of those mill children. I don't quite understand after that, but they told me that since the snow was melting and no good for throwing, they would wage war against me with the cotton balls!"

"Outrageous," Fanny exclaimed from the sofa, "really, John, you must stop eliminating those boundaries between you and your workers. They are your employees."

John turned to his sister with some of his old harshness.

"Yes, and they are also children. Those men and woman have given their lives for me, and I intend not to punish their children for wishing a little joy in their lives."

"Oh," was all Fanny said, and with that she ignored her brother completely, going back her dog who curled up docilely in her arms.

"So," Margaret looked up at John, sure Fanny did not care what she said, "I hope other than that all went well."

"Yes," John nodded, "those children were the highlight, I think though. You know I always disliked them?"

"Children?" Margaret was taken aback, "but everyone loves children."

"I did not," John returned candidly, "for you see, when I was one myself I found their company rather less varied than the adults, and when I was older, I could abide their constant whining."

"That's what they do," Margaret smiled, unsure, and a little relieved at this revelation. At least bearing an heir was optional.

"Yes, I see that now," John looked distant, then fixed his eyes again on his young love, "but that matters not at the moment. I believe I have a gift for you."

Margaret was so pleased with his announcement about children that she did not notice the bright look in her fiancee's eyes or the conspiratorial glance he cast his sister.

**AN: how am I doing so far? I have a plan for this, promise, if you are willing to read on!**


	3. Chapter 3 The Lady of the Mill

**AN: More I say! **

"Open them," John held Margaret's hand in the landing of a beautiful foyer, the chandelier glittering in the afternoon light.

Margaret gasped and stared with wonder at the beautiful, already furnished home. Without pausing, she threw her arms around her fiance and kissed him from his mouth to his nose.

"Oh John, it is perfect!" She announced, breaking away to dash up the stairs into the hallway where she found four rooms, all closed with lacquered wooden doors. Opening the first one, she saw that it was a library, already partially stocked, and a writing room connected through a clever false-wall, leading to the next room. Eager to explore, she dragged John through the portal, and came up into fresh journals and a well stocked stationary, set out neatly on the desk by the high vaulted window. She squeezed John's hand when she saw the pot of yellow roses by the window box and continued on her journey like a child, feeling so strange but happy now that her fiance was once again with her.

She exited the room by one door, and came upon one of the last in the hall. Opening it she saw that is was a beautiful, elegant bedroom with a massive four poster bed against the corner by yet another window. The room was furnished in light blue paper and wooden panelling, and the decor matched the concept. The sheets were patterned in the dutch style, and upon the bedside tables the oil lamps were made of delft blue pottery.

Margaret knew that she had essentially paid for the house, but was sure by some objects in the bedroom she was not the sole beneficiary. Items from their wedding packet, arrived early, stood against their surroundings like welcome visitors, comfortable, but not completely fitting in with the general mood of the room. Margaret decided she liked the oddball style, and resolved to keep their room that way. _Their room_. The words sounded terrifying and really, but she would not allow herself to think of her conversation with Fanny. Her husband was a different matter. John loved her, and so would not hurt her. Or...?

To stifle the onslaught of doubt, she turned to John and kissed him with as much happiness she could muster. She felt him smile against her lips, and broke away to rest her head on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of him; his aftershave, the smell of the mills, and most of all, the familiar mint scent she had come to associate with him.

"I love you," she murmured into his lapels.

"I love you too," he hugged her tighter to his body and ran his hands through her hair.

She could not believe her luck, and recalled a long-gone conversation with Bessy, years before when they spoke about the mysterious Mr Thornton.

"Well," John said, breaking the companionable silence, "I think we should be going back. They'll wonder where we are."

Margaret blushed, not sure why, and they left their new home, full of the dreams that it had inspired.

They walked through the street, arm-in-arm, and when they arrived back at the old Thornton place, they went their separate ways, and did not meet again until supper when they were informed they were to be having visitors.

Margaret had to restrain her delight when she heard who they would be, and narrowly avoided missing her dinner again once her emotions took the place of food in her belly. They were sitting at the table at the beginning of the meal when Mrs Thornton made her declaration.

Her cousin, Edith, would be coming with her husband for the wedding, though the baby would stay at home with a governess for the time. News of their coming had only just reached Milton, and Mrs Thornton, being home whilst her son's fiancee was not, took it upon herself to read the letter and relay its contents to Margaret, an offence that was overlooked for the sole purpose that the letter contained nothing personal inside, and that the letter was addressed to the Thornton Hale family.

"I want this all done properly," Mrs Thornton declared at the end, "no nonsense. I trust you will have a public ceremony," she glanced sidelong at her son, "and that all affairs shall be settled before the honeymoon."

John nodded, still somewhat under his mothers impressive thrall, and looked to Margaret, the woman who had gained the power to trump even his lady-mother's strong opinions.

"Not to worry," Margaret replied companionably, "Fanny has been a great comfort to me, and is helping to ensure all is well. As for Mr Thornton," she said 'Mr Thornton' as a formality to please the older lady, "I am sure the mill shall survive whilst we are gone. We have good men in our employ, I have seen to that."

"Have you?" Mrs Thornton replied in her ironic norther drawl, "well. Once you are married you will not have to worry about such things. I am sure my son will do the rest."

"Yes," Margaret replied in a measured voice, "but you forget, Mrs Thornton, that the mill is as much mine as it is Mr Thornton's. I have equal weight, so am of equal guilt should something happen to the workers or the buildings. I believe husband and wife should be able to ally themselves in something additional to marriage to strengthen their relationship."

"Well, you always did have a mind of yer own," Mrs Thornton's accent slipped a little, "but is suppose it is just as well. John couldn't listen to me, so perhaps he will you."

"Mother," John looked over calmly, "I listened to you."

"Oh posh," the Lady gave him a sarcastic smile, "you never did and you know it." John gave a defeated chuckle and leaned back into his chair, hands laced on his lap.

"At any rate, Nicholas Higgins will take care of the mill while we are away," John said, eyes half-closed.

"You mean he will manage the production?" Mrs Thornton looked horrified, "but John dear, he was one of the rioters! He started that mess we had in the winter last!"

"He is a fine man," her son replied doggedly, "and with the position I have increased his wages. It is good for the workers to know that there is a possibility for advancement in their current places. It makes them respectful and hard-working. Besides, Nicholas is a kind man, at heart, and he will use his mind for good this time, I am sure of it."

Margaret, who did not know about Nicholas's sudden promotion looked at her fiance with a bubble of pride. He had given the responsibility to a man who truly needed the money, and who was loyal to the family, not only from John's late sign of kindness but also Margaret's friendship with Bessy.

"I think that is a fine idea," Margaret gave her husband an approving smile.

The older Mrs Thornton, seeing that she was outnumbered, huffed and placed her napkin on the table with a soft thump.

"You two, I swear you will be the death of me." But there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips when she said it, and once their meal had arrived, was thoroughly pleased with herself, and only a little sorry John would be away for the month after his wedding. She even felt a pang for Margaret, who had become her grudging equal, and who had also succeeded in taking a little piece of her son's heart.

After dinner Margaret went to the parlor, where she began reading again, the sky turned purple out the high windows. She did not yet wish to retire, and as her obligations had been fulfilled, she was content to curl up like a cat and lose herself in her book.

She noticed John come in, but barely lifted her eyes from the pages. She was moved slightly when he sat down beside her, her father's old Plato novel in his hand, but neither spoke as they sat in silence, absorbed by their own worlds spinning restlessly in their heads.

"I hadn't thought about our honeymoon," Margaret said at last, losing interest in her story.

"Hm? Oh," John glanced up, "yes."

"Where are we going?" She pressed, sure that, like the house, he knew, but wished to keep it from her.

"I thought about Italy," John looked at her with a level expression, "but then I decided we should go to Spain."

Margaret dropped her book in shock and for the second time that day threw her arms unceremoniously around her betrothed.

"Truly?" she asked breathlessly, sure he had been speaking to Nicholas.

"Yes, my love, truly," he replied with a kiss on her nose. "Yes."

**AN: so I'm having fun with this. If you are too, drop me a line or just keep on reading!**


	4. Chapter 4 The Man and His Wife

**AN: I'm back! (Cadiz)**

The night before her wedding Margaret could not sleep. She tossed and threw off her blankets, half awake and half dreaming. She was standing over a deep well, and inside she could see her old life, the Helstone life, with her mother and father, but when she looked up she saw a bleak drawing room, one filled with books and cobwebbed with dust and cotton fluff.

She tried to look back into the well, to search for that better time, but found that the water had turned black, and she could no longer see her parents. Desperate, she cried out, and called into the deep, but she could only hear her voice echo. She called again, and again but there was no reply. Sobbing, she fell to her knees and prayed. She prayed that they would come back, and that they would deliver her from the wretched place her heart was prisoner to, but nothing happened. She began to lose hope, terrified to be trapped in that grey-black darkness forever, when she felt a familiar arm around her waist and was pressed against John's chest. He was silent and held her to him while she cried those tears that had not been shed; that she had not allowed herself to shed.

He did not ask for an answer as she sobbed into his shirt, nor did he provoke her to any action. Instead, he stayed still and held her in his arms, one hand on her back and the other holding her to him like a child.

"I _will_ take care of you," he whispered in his northern brogue, "and I will never leave."

Margaret awoke then, blinking back the tears she had already shed onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling. She was wearing her mother's old crucifix, for her something old, and it clung to her as she fought to regain her breath.

The dream felt so real, so intense, and she was forced to consider what it meant, but all she could see and smell was _him. _He promised he would never leave her, and the dream seemed to cement that unspoken worry that nagged at the back of her mind. After all, she had been left by Fred, then by her mother, and after by her father, so her heart, as broken as it was, still wished some protection against the relentless onslaught of life. This thought, the one that John cared so, caused her to cry again, and she found she could not stop the waves that crashed over her like the sea against the shore.

She sobbed until her nose was red and eyes raw, but when her crying finally quieted she stood up and splashed water on her face, worried that the signs of her midnight break-apart would be noticed, and she wished nothing more that to be the bride John wanted; to be her best and more, for her dream had confirmed it. He loved her dreadfully and she could not but help loving him for it.

The morning did come, and she finally slept soundly, but was awoken rather too soon by a smiling Edith and large-eyed Fanny. At first she thought the looks they gave her were because of her face, no doubt puffy from crying, but found, once she stood and stared at herself in the mirror, that it was not her face that made them look so, but her hair. Somehow in her midnight tryst she had done a fabulous job on her hair. It stood up at impossible angles around her face and she looked positively medieval. With a laugh she patted it down with her hands, only to be pulled by Fanny into the chair by her vanity.

"Now," Fanny declared, "We must make you presentable."

After this royal proclamation, Margaret was subject to all of Fanny's hidden charms, namely the torture of innocent girls. She combed and raked, powdered and chocked, pinned and stabbed, and by the time she helped Margaret into her wedding dress the poor victim felt rather sore. She touched her curls, pinned behind her to her bun, and found that the hair was springy, and her scalp tender.

Without a word of protest her dress was adjusted and the stays tightened so she could hardly breathe. Next, Edith arranged Margaret's veil, and the two women stood back to admire their handiwork. Edith began to cry, and Fanny gave a look of triumphant pleasure, making one glance at her clock.

"You look like an angel, Maggie," Edith said, using her cousin's old nickname. Margaret blushed, sure she had outgrown such childish words, but they gave her comfort, and she swivelled in her seat to get the first real glimpse of herself as a bride. She was dazzled by the effect. No only was she plain, dark Margaret, but an entirely different creature, long white neck topped with pearls and her mother's necklace, veil covering her face that made her look young and pretty, and eyes that were surprisingly calm in her reflection.

"Now," Fanny said, "have you all your items in order? What is your something old?"

"My mothers crucifix," Margaret replied, fingering it lovingly and sadly.

"Your something new?"

"My veil," she replied.

"Borrowed? Blue?" Fanny quizzed, much to the amusement of Edith, who stood back, surprised at the assertiveness the little woman was demonstrating.

"Edith's gloves," Margaret replied, "and my wedding ring."

She felt herself stand, unaccustomed to such luxury, and spoke as if though a haze. Edith asked about the sapphire in the ring, and how John's mother had managed to save it, and the women left the room, Fanny watching Margaret's train as she made her way down the hall and towards the carriage which awaited her, again forgetting to eat. In the cab Fanny sat opposite her, and, as if remembering this triviality, plucked an apple from her purse.

"Have this," she urged, "it will help keep up your strength."

Margaret gratefully took it, and, not long after Fanny had tucked the core into one of her fancy handkerchiefs, did the carriage slow to a stop, and the footman hop down to let out the bride.

Her heart began hammering then, and the reality of what she was doing almost overwhelmed her. She looked about and saw her friends, some from the mills dressed in their best, others from Helstone, noses red but smiling, and was calmed when Edith laced her hand in her cousin's gloved fingers, leading her towards the alter. Fredrick was not available to give her away, so she had chosen Nicholas, whom she had grown to love and respect.

With a little awkward bow he took her from Edith, and the cannon march began. At first Margaret could not clearly see her soon-to-be husband, but when she did her face broke into a radiant smile and she had to force herself to walk in the controlled, ritualistic manner required of her. John's eyes were bluer than ever in the morning light, and he looked the image of perfection. His black suit contrasted well with his skin, and his hair was combed neatly, with only one rakish lock cast over his forehead, giving him that devil-may-care look he had when times were not so severe.

He was giving her a look of pure happiness, and his mouth curved slightly, an indicator of his joy. His gaze was not so intense today, but was softer, more vulnerable, and as Nicholas delivered her to him with a pat on John's shoulder, John took Margaret's hand reverently, as if holding a sacred object he was afraid to break.

They spoke their vows in hushed, private voices, and when they were declared husband and wife John lifting her veil gently and gave her a long but chaste kiss on the lips. The crowd applauded and wolf whistled, and they were walking back down the aisle that they had only just come up, not bound to each other as they were now.

Margaret held John's hand tightly, and when they were in the carriage she burst out laughing.

She smiled and laughed and kissed her husband's hands the way she had done at the station so many months back. He returned the grin and spoke formally, for effect.

"So, Mrs Margaret Thornton, what shall we do before dinner?"

"Do we have enough time for anything?" Margaret asked, mentally considering the guests that would be arriving in their new home shortly after their own arrival.

"Oh I don't know," John's eyes glittered in the dark of the coach and they pulled up at their new residence. Once safely on the ground the new Mrs and Mr Thornton made their way upstairs to their new bedroom, not separate, like the London ones, and took off her veil, resting it gently on the new dresser that stood by the door.

She took off her gloves, and noticed that her husband had removed his heavy waistcoat. With her heart beating wildly she looked at him, really seeing what she had not allowed herself to before. His white starched shirt was loose against his stomach, promising fitness, and his shoulders were broad and strong, leading to the sturdy column of his neck.

Noticing her unabashed staring, John walked quietly over and covered her mouth with his. This kiss was different than the others, however. This one was deeper, and she felt a surprised shiver when his tongue grazed her bottom lip. He paused, just long enough for her to adjust to the new sensation, then kissed her again, his hands on her back, holding her. He let out a breath when her teeth accidentally grazed his lips, and, encouraged, she attempted to match him in his actions towards her. Only when she was thoroughly breathless did they break apart, and even then they stared into each others considerable darker eyes with something new. Something that they had not known. Margaret was not the fool to believe John had never been with someone before her, but could see seriously that the sensations were new to them both.

There was a noise downstairs. The guests had arrived.

"Margaret," John said hoarsely,

"Call me Maggie, John," Margaret said taking his offered arm, "and we will meet our family."

**AN: So?! I was so pleased to finish this chapter! They are married at last! (dances around room like a mental patient) I guess this is the part I was mentioning about the M rating. Teen or make life interesting? P.S, the rating would be for some other things too, not just the inclusion of lemons to all those closet pervs much like myself ;P***


	5. Chapter 5 (Modified T)

**AN: Hello, so I decided to change this chapter. I know the rating is T, so I am going to keep it that way. R&R**

Margaret Hale, now Margaret Thornton, stood in the doorway of their bedroom, still in her wedding dress, waiting for their new servant Jane to help her out. John was still downstairs, entertaining the men in the parlor, while the women had gone home with well-wishes for the newlyweds.

She was so nervous her curls were bobbing up and down in a state of agitation, and her hands were cold with her prospects. They were to leave on the morrow for Cadiz, and that being so, it meant that their wedding night would be at their home, here, in Milton.

Margaret jumped when Jane came to her side, a quiet girl, not more that sixteen, and began unlacing her dress, rather oblivious that the job should be done inside the room, and not in the doorway. Margaret corrected her, and they moved inside where Jane succeeded in getting Margaret down to her loose chemise, the only thing between the world and her skin. Without a word, Jane went to her wardrobe and took out her wedding gown, the night dress that was a gift from Edith.

It was a thin silk thing, with a plunging neckline and lace along the hem, a hem, coincidentally, that only reached mid-thigh. The girl smiled shyly at her mistress when she handed over the conspicuous garment, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Margaret called to her, stopping the girl in her tracks.

"Yes mum?" she curtsied.

"Tell me when my husband will be up, please. I wish to be ready."

"Yes mum," Jane repeated, coloring scarlet with the implication. She shut the door and Margaret set to work on her wrinkled chemise, replacing it with that scandalous half-dress. She unpinned her hair and went to the vanity, where she dabbed a little perfume on her throat. It was not enough to be openly noticeable, but if one got close it provided a wonderful and heady scent.

Next, feeling rather undecided, she sat on the bed and set to braiding and re-braiding her long dark hair. She yawned, the day suddenly apparent, and relaxed into the thick goose-down pillows. Her hands stopped, mid-braid, and her eyelids drooped. No, she thought, I cannot fall asleep. John will be waiting for me. But try as she might, the fog of sleep descended, and she closed her eyes, content in but a moment's rest.

After what seemed like a decade, she awoke to a small laugh by the door. Disoriented and confused, she pulled the covers up to her chin and, feeling sheepish, slowly lowered them when she saw John. He was standing in the same place she had hours earlier, leaned up against the casement. His shirt open and his stance relaxed. A smile played across his lips.

"My dear, was I gone so long?" He asked.

"Oh, no," Margaret replied, flustered, attempting to tame her wild locks which had gotten tangled in her sleep. "I must have... dozed off I suppose." In three long strides he was beside her, and took her flustered hands in his, amused and gentle.

"You do look beautiful," he said, "I wish I had not stayed so long with the men."

Margaret could hear the husky tone in her husband's voice and gave him a shy smile.

"Yes," she replied, "for you would have melted to see me."

"I believe I still might," John kissed her cheek, then her nose. Her lips found his in an act of boldness she had not thought possible, and he tangled his hands in her hair, pulling them closer. His teeth grazed her lip and his tongue caressed hers, sweetly, and passionately. She sighed against his lips, and, encouraged, he adjusted his position so that he was half-straddling her, kissing along her jaw, her neck, and her collar bone.

Margaret looked up and knew she loved him, more that she had that morning at their wedding.

...

"My God, Maggie," he said, pulling her into his arms, "you are perfect."

Margaret blushed at the compliment, and was pleased he was using her nickname so readily. She curled up to him, their bodies natural and uninhibited, even by their blankets, and were both soon asleep, her cheek against his chest and his hand on her waist.

**AN: Ok, so modified. I think this should be better. **


	6. Chapter 6 The Old and the New

**AN: So thank you for the support! I really appreciate it and it makes me want to keep writing. I like to see what people think. So, I present chapter the sixth!**

Margaret opened her eyes and glanced sideways, confused. She had been dreaming that she was in her old house in Helston, but John had been there, and they had been alone together. She relaxed instantly, however, when she noticed her black-haired husband, his face soft and beautiful, in the sunlight that slanted though their curtained windows. His hair was mussed and about his face, while his long eyelashes rested gently against his cheeks. He was such a handsome man, Margaret reflected, and as she moved to inspect her own face, she caught sight of his fine chest and arms, one still slung behind her back.

Carefully, as to not wake him, she moved out of bed and adjusted her hair in the mirror by the door. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and her cheeks held a rosy glow, as if announcing her marriage in the most private way. She was pleased with herself; she had not cried, or even gasped when she had been with him for the first time, and she had done her duty as a wife, finding, intriguingly, that she not only accepted him, but enjoyed their contact and indeed wanted more.

She found her nightgown on the floor and slipped it over her head, to protect her modesty, if nothing else and looked back to the bed where she found her husband smiling lazily at her. He beckoned her towards him, and once she was near the bed he rose up and pulled her into his arms. She squealed with delight as he peppered soft kisses along her arms and her neck, and she giggled when he abruptly changed tactics and decided to tickle her, laughing and giving her one of his blue-eyed looks, a new one; a playful one.

"Good morning, Mrs Thornton," he joked.

"I told you!" Margaret gasped, she was laughing so hard, "don't call me that!"

"Well then," he murmured, "Maggie." He stopped then, and that same dark look came over his eye as it had before.

"No!" Margaret cried, "John, we can't. We will miss our train!"

"Oh?" John looked as if he only just remembered their honeymoon, "that old thing! It should wait for us. Don't they know married people aren't to be rushed?"

"Yes, but even still," Margaret gave him a little kiss and untangled herself from him, "we should be up."

John groaned and flopped back into his pillows as Margaret stood and put on her travelling dress, simple to adjust on ones own and did not require a servant. Her wedding clothes were already packed, as were his, so all was left was to have breakfast, but on her hat, and depart.

She saw John stand from the corner of her eye, and he too began to reluctantly dress for their journey. In a few minutes he was prepared and his hair (barely,) cooperating, was combed and neatly placed as it always was. Well, not _always,_ Margaret thought to herself with a smile.

Their breakfast was had quickly, as, like Margaret predicted, they were going to be late, and the couple dashed out the house hand-in-hand, for the station. They arrived just in time, and boarded into an empty cubicle, the shudders still pulled down from the night before. They were both a little flustered from the hasty departure, and when they regained their breath Margaret looked hopelessly at her husband.

His face was red and he wore a wide eyed look of perplexion Margaret decided she thought was the cutest thing she had ever seen. When she caught his eye she sighed loudly, letting her bottom lip go in the process, a sign of their ordeal, and without being one wit able to stop it, they both burst out laughing. They could not stop, and it was not only their close brush that had them relieved. It was everything; the mill, their relationship, the feeling of finally being free, of being hopelessly and irrevocably in love.

John stood and opened the shutters to the countryside then, turning to sit beside her. He gathered her in his arms and she closed her eyes against his warmth. They did not speak, for they did not have to, and fell asleep once more, only be woken in London, when another couple, stern old birds, clad in the most depressing shades of grey and black, boarded opposite them. Margaret hastily adjusted her position, but not before the old woman caught sight of John hand around Margaret's waist. She gave a disapproving sniff at this, and her husband gave a severe look to John, who, for the life of him, did not seem to notice or care. Margaret had never imagined him such a rogue, her severe, polite husband who was only his true self with her, and her alone.

They were taking the scenic route across England, leaving from Dover instead of Liverpool, so, in lieu of this important fact, Margaret attempted to venture into conversation with the elderly couple.

"You are going south as well?" she asked.

The old woman sniffed and nodded. "Yes," she answered.

"Lovely," Margaret replied. "Any reason? If I may be so bold."

"No, you may not as you ask," the woman snapped, "for I am sure you are a sinful girl."

"Pardon?" John said for Margaret, giving the old biddy a hard look.

"Well," she replied, clearly flustered from John's question, "You are not married, are you?"

"Yes," John replied in a measured voice. "We were yesterday."

"Well then, young man," she spoke down to John in a way that set Margaret's teeth on edge, "you must learn to be proper. Tis not polite for other passengers to witness such wonton expressions of—," she sniffed again, referring to the way John held one arm around Margaret's shoulder, "affection."

"Madam," John made his voice bland and respectful, "I apologize." He took his arm out from behind Margaret, but gave her a devilish little wink as he did.

Needless to say, they spent the rest of their time with the old couple, who got off somewhere near Buckinghamshire, like two chastised school children, and when she finally moved her mouldy self off the train, alone with her silent husband, the couple almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Soon, though, another couple joined them, this time two young people, a blond girl with dimples and a man with light sandy locks.

"Dover too then eh?" The man said, betraying his Jordie accent.

John and Margaret smiled and Margaret noticed the gold rings on the couple's fingers.

"Married too?" Margaret enquired polity to the girl.

"Yes, only just this morning," she replied in a fluttery, enthusiastic voice, "and you?"

"Yesterday," Margaret nodded.

"So where are you all going after Dover?" the man asked, glancing between his wife and John.

"Cadiz," John replied, "in Spain." To this the girl gave a delighted yelp of joy.

"Us too, me and Roddy," she said, "but I'm forgetting myself. "I am Maude, and this is Roderick, pleasure to meet you." She and her husband took their new companions hands warmly and they settled back into their places.

"Where are you travelling from?" Roderick asked.

"Milton," John replied.

"Oh nice," Roderick nodded, "Me and the missus are from Whitley Bay." Margaret had not a clue where that was, but she smiled and tried to look knowledgeable. There was a lull in conversation then, and the two couples sank into companionable silence, each man sitting close to his respective wife, but it turned out that the new couple were rather chatty, and, to their surprise, intensely funny, so that when they parted ways at the station Margaret was sad to see them go. They had given the Thornton's their address in Spain hoping that they would call, and Margaret could tell that John was tempted.

"Well look at that, John," she said as they saw the couple swallowed by the bustling crowd, "I believe we have made our first friends as a married pair."

"Yes," John looked down at her, taking their bags in hand, "I do hope we see them again. Who knows what trouble we could get ourselves in?"

**AN: Duh, duh, Dunhhh! Lol, ok. R&R! Shenanigans to come!**


	7. Chapter 7 Yo No Hablo Espanol

**This version is an edit, so some of the Spanish is better. I don't have a program for the special notes, like the accents, but the "ñ" kinda works. Ok, so if anyone has any other problems, PM or review! Oh, also, sorry about Dolores, I derped... Promise I'm done and I will add a special chapter for all your support :)**

It soon became apparent that John did not like ships, or rather, his stomach harboured a passionate hate for him and all that he was. It was not that the ship was particularly rocky, or that the seas did not behave, but, being thoroughly a landlocked person, John had never travelled on more than a fishing boat as a child, an ordeal that he shuddered to describe.

Margaret felt for her ill husband, handing him wet cloths and feeding him thin soup, but when he had begun to improve she took more time on the deck, delighting in the cool, wet air and the sound of the sea lapping against the hull. She had been to the continent as a girl, but had never taken a ship that far before, so the Dover packet was a small ferry ride compared to this 'harrowing' journey across the sea.

She smoothed her skirts and made her way to their cabin where John was lying on his back, hand across his eyes, asleep. He made such a striking figure, even in his thinner state, with his shock of black hair and those long legs. Careful not to wake him, she curled up at his side and closed her own eyes, simply for the fact that she could better feel his warmth without the sensory overload of sight. Her heart swelled, and he seemed to awake, sleepily taking her in his arms. He did not kiss her, but merely held her, head tucked under his chin. Finally, though, he looked down at her and said,

"I love you, Maggie."

"I know," Margaret replied, almost asleep, "and I love you."

...

The rest of the voyage was taken in stride, and when they finally arrived in Spain Margaret was more than a little glad to have her feet touch _terra firma_. The ocean had been beautiful but depressingly expansive, and every time she thought of her brother impatience burned at her stomach and she itched to see him, not to mention see his new wife and child. She could not remember his wife's name, nor that of his child, but was determined to make every effort to endear herself to this new woman so that she would not lose contact again with her brother.

It was selfish, she reflected, but she was more anxious to see her brother and introduce him to her husband than to see the baby, for now a strange and alien creature that only existed in correspondence, although the thought of its creation made her thoughtful and contemplative. She and John had never spoken of children, indeed, there had been no mention of it since their marriage, but she had become increasingly fixed on the notion after she had seen a sweet young child with her mother on the deck of the _Santa Adela._

No doubt John had noticed the change in her, but she had not mentioned her thoughts to him, or even lain with him since they left their hotel in Dover on account of his being so sick. She had nursed him and sat with him, taking him for strolls above deck, but when they were together in their cabin she could not help but wish he would hold her like he did in England, and the wicked hope that he would recover so she may be with him again refused to budge. Now, however, they were in Spain, the hot, semi-tropical paradise, and Margaret was so full of sights and sounds her husband became but an accessory to her immediate adventure.

When they docked they were met by Fredrick himself, along with a stunning black haired Spaniard. The girl was clothed in a colorful sundress, her thick locks braided behind her back, and dark, Spanish eyes regarding Margaret with mild interest. She wore a smile when she glanced between John and his wife, and stood back as Fredrick rushed to gather his little sister in his arms. He hugged her for a time, and when they broke apart Margaret found that her eyes were wet and her cheeks red.

"Oh Fred," she cried, "how I have missed you!"

"And I you, little sister," He responded warmly. "So, now you are here, you should meet my wife, Dolores. Dolores, esta mi hermana, Margaret y su esposo Señor Thornton."

Dolores took Margaret's hand then John's, and the Fredrick spoke to John for the first time.

"I apologize, Dolores does not know English as well as she would like. Nice to meet you, Mr Thornton."

John took Fredrick's offered hand and nodded. "You as well, but please, call me John."

"Alright, John," Fredrick replied candidly, "come along, we live just along the coast. It isn't a long way."

Fredrick had a coach, and soon their luggage was piled on, and they were off. The drive was pleasant, and Margaret found herself quite lost in a conversation with Fred about life in this new place, while John watched the scenery with placid interest and Dolores listened to her husband, her sharp eyes intent on understanding.

Margaret was sure she knew some English, and so when they reached their home, a large but not imposing house set against the sea, she waited for Dolores to exit the coach and said,

"You have a beautiful home, Señora."

"Gracias," Dolores beamed, "I like it, and so Fredrick does too. Will you come and see mi bebe?"

"Of course!" Margaret said, assuming she meant that they were to see Fredrick's child.

She left her husband with a little kiss and followed Dolores through the house to a nursery just off the master bedroom. Inside a little pink and white lace crib stood in the middle of the room, a light wispy, mosquito net draping from the ceiling and onto the floor. The walls were a soft blush color, and when Margaret approached the crib she saw a beautiful child, small and perfectly formed, asleep with her cheek pressed against the mattress. Dolores was careful not to wake the child, but adjusted her little gown with a loving smile.

She then looked up at Margaret and beckoned her come. Margaret followed, and was just about to close the door when the baby began to cry. It was fortunate, that she had, for her aunt had been hoping that she could hold the baby.

Upon the sound of the infant squalling, a nurse bustled into the room and picked the child up, but, with a few words from Dolores, she was in her mother's arms and soon quieted.

"Bueno, Rosa," she cooed, "niña buena. Come," she gestured to Margaret, "see."

Margaret approached the tiny creature with caution this time, coming only close enough to see that the baby had dark black hair like cotton fluff under her bonnet and carried the blue eyes of the Hale's. She was immediately taken by her niece, and felt a little pang that her parent's could not see their granddaughter, the adorable Rosa.

She found herself staring wistfully at the child, imagining her as a young woman, for surely she would be a stunning creature, when Dolores glanced over and asked if she wished to hold the baby. Margaret, not sure how to decline without seeming rude, gently took Rosa from her mother. Dolores adjusted her hands under her daughter, and the two women left the nursery for the parlor, where the men would no doubt be, waiting for their wives before retreating to the study or drawing room. The house was humble, however, and the parlor was not hard to find, so when Margaret arrived with the little burbling bundle rocked carefully against her arm, she found both Fred and John sitting and holding glasses of brandy.

Upon seeing his wife, John stood and went to her, surveying her and the child with a sort of tenderness that, if she had not known her husband so well, she would have never expected. Fred got up a bit slower, and made his way to the small group, smile on his young face.

"Isn't she lovely?" he asked his sister.

"Yes," Margaret agreed, "she has your eyes."

"And her mother's hair," Fred added, going to his wife and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Margaret looked across to her husband, and he came closer to look at the small charge.

"She's so small, Maggie," he said in wonderment, gazing at the child.

"Yes," Fred answered for his sister, "she was born early but she is strong. We called her Rosa because when she was born she was as pink as a rose."

"Oh," Margaret looked over, "but aren't all babies?"

"No, no," Fred disagreed, "most are born red, but she was perfect."

"I see," Margaret replied, wondering what Fred knew about babies, if anything at all.

"Do you want to hold her?" Fred asked John.

John looked surprised, but put down his cup and carefully took the baby from Margaret. Rosa looked up at him with a funny little smile and flailed her arms about, as if asking to be held closer. John, not understanding this action, attempted to adjust her blankets, and she began to wail.

Afraid he had broken her, he hastily handed her back to her mother, and the nurse, who was standing quietly by the door, took the infant away, singing low lullaby.

"I must apologize," John said to Fred and Dolores, with a frown, "I did not mean any harm."

"No, no," Dolores waved her hand dismissively, "all is well."

"I think she was afraid of me," John insisted, glancing despairingly to his wife.

"No," Margaret shook her head, "you were wonderful. I am sure when we have our own children they will love you."

John's head snapped up so fast he was forced to rub a crick in his neck. "What?" he asked.

"I'm only saying," Margaret corrected herself, sure of how John had interpreted that, "when we decide we are ready."

John looked both relieved and profoundly disappointed. "Oh, I see," he said.

"Now come, lets go to the beach. I am sure we can get up to that later." She winked and John followed her onto the terrace like a lost puppy.


	8. Chapter 8 A Dinner with Spirits

**AN: thanks guys for all the patience with... well... me! So, here's an extra special chapter to thank you for surviving the 'Me.' Cheers and don't forget to R&R!**

Margaret and John stayed with Fred and Dolores for another week. In that time they had gone to the beach, shopped in the town, and had even seen a medieval castle. Their nights were full; with dancing, supping at lovely Spanish restaurants, and retiring to their room with passion in their hearts. Margaret had never felt so fiery, so alive, and she craved the excitement of it all. She never wished to leave, and hoped to one day travel everywhere, to maybe never come home.

John was attentive as ever, but, away from his stern environment, had become another man. They had been out that night, at another beautiful ocean side haunt, and he been drinking. They all had, Margaret reasoned, but she had never seen her husband soused, and found it incomparably hilarious, perhaps due to the fact that she was a little tipsy as well. It took a lot to get him this way, she reflected. Four shots of tequila and a mug of strong German beer later her was smiling like a child and taking her hand to dance.

He twirled her about, grinning, and, like a devil, dipped her low. With suave he probably never knew he had, John kissed her full on the lips—in public, and twirled her until she was flush against his chest.

She cried out in surprise, and he gave her a funny, tender look.

"You... are... g—great, ya know that?" He slurred, trying to look alluring, "my m—," he hiccoughed, "mother said, 'son, stay away! She's bad news, she is. But you're not?" He seemed confused for a second, then, with a dramatic gesture, pointed to the sky, "No! No indeed!"

"Its time for bed," Fred made his way to the couple, a little unsteady himself, "C'mon you two."

"Yes Govna!" John put on his best military salute, but missed his forehead. "Lets go, wife! We are needed!"

"Indeed," Margaret giggled, "Onward!"

They entered their carriage, and Fred looked unsteadily at John. "To the study, good fellow?"

"Only if you've got some whiskey," John replied, gesturing wildly, "that tequillia—teqiqua... was rather dry..."

Dolores, who did not drink, gave Margaret a disparaging look, but rolled her eyes when her husband took her hand and kissed it, announcing that he knew she was the most beautiful woman in the world. To this John looked unreasonably angry.

"How can you say that?" he said loudly. "Clearly, my wife is better!"

"Better?" Fred squawked, "for shame! Margie's my sister, but look! My wife could make kings bow!"

"No!" John argued, "my wife could meet a star, and it would pale at the sight of her!"

"A star? My wife is a star! A thousand sparkling stars!"

"Margaret's the sun!"

"Dolly's the moon!"

"Clearly, there is only one way to settle this," Fred looked serious. "We duel!"

"A duel!" John's eyes lit up. "Quite so!"

"Say sunrise?"

"Indeed. What a lovely duel this will be. You will die of course."

"I, die? Nay good fellow! Nay!"

"Why?"

"It would be rude." Fred crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face.

"Fine," John replied, "that is true. You must smite me."

"Quite so, quite so."

At this point, the women had decided this conversation had gone on far enough, and besides, they were already back at the house.

"No one will be smiting anyone," Margaret said, "shake hands. Both wives are equal in beauty and... everything else."

"Quite so!" Fred said, taking John's hand.

"Quite so!" John shook, and when the carriage door swung open, almost tripped. Fred actually did, and fell on his face. He groaned, and John laughed so hard he cried.

"Alright you, time for bed," Margaret steered him away to their bedroom, leaving Fred, who was unhurt, to bounce along in his wife's wake.

"Did I ever tell you I loved you?" John asked as she helped him to the door.

"Only all the time," Margaret replied patiently, "but keep saying it. You might just get a kiss."


	9. Chapter 9 A Chance

**AN: So first I would like to thank all my readers. Yes, even you, ghost reader who makes my traffic graph happy :) I present another chapter. I want John and Margaret's relationship to work like one would in real life, so I'm holding off kids for the moment, though there may be hints now and then—but keep hope! I have a plan! (kinda maybe sort-of!) Also, I'm going to fix one of the chapters where I mention whats-his-face as William, but he's really Henry Lennox, lol. My mistake. You can see how much I liked him...**

Margaret rolled over in bed and spied her husband, nose pressed into the covers, passed out from the night before. She smiled to think that her serious, taciturn husband had given over to the vices so easily, but, she reasoned, even important men like him could not be so noble all the time.

She sat up, feeling a little dizzy, but not overly so, and crept out of bed to fix herself up. She combed her hair and brushed her teeth, thinking that she would change and wait for him to awake. Picking a pretty crimson day dress, she did her own stays and slid on her slippers, almost laughing when she imagined Fred in the same state as her husband. From where she was standing John's face was pale and his hair was a mess atop his handsome head. He would not be feeling well, but, from his cynical wife's prospective, it had been worth it, for her at least. She had come to know another habit of John's, and in that she felt some small accomplishment.

With this thought, she made her way to the kitchen, where servants had already set out a fine spread of cheese, fruit, breads and eggs. Dolores was already sitting down with a plate on her lap balanced on her knee, and a book in her hand. Dressed in fine stripped crinoline she looked lovely, and as she heard Margaret enter, she broke into a radiant smile and placed the book down beside her plate.

"Oh Margaret," she said, "Come. Eat."

"Should we not wait for our husbands?" Margaret's brow furrowed. She had never eaten without John, and was not sure of the protocol.

"No, no," Dolores shook her head, "Fred, he said we should if we want. Let them sleep."

"Oh, alright," Margaret's stomach growled rather insistently, and, attempting ladylike poise, began to pick away at the fruit and eggs, taking a hard boiled egg on toast for her main meal.

"Fred never does that," Dolores added as Margaret had a mouthful of toast. "He is always up, and never drinks."

"Nor does John," Margaret replied, thinking of their short marriage, "I think. I have not been married long."

"No," Dolores took a delicate nip of her watermelon, "I will be sad when you go. Fred loves you."

"And I love him," Margaret sighed, "but we will be back soon. It won't be forever."

"You should come when mi Rosa is big," Dolores's eyes lit up, "Come when she has communion!"

"Communion?" Margaret frowned.

"Yes, that's what you call, right?"

"Indeed, if you are Catholic," Margaret replied, "but we are protestants."

"I am Catolic," Dolores replied, "we raise Rosa Catolic."

Margaret's eyebrows rose, but she did not reply. She could just hear her dear father scolding her for letting Fred go astray.

"Well," Margaret smoothed her disapproval, "then we will come for Rosa's communion." Dolores flashed one of her radiant smiles and finished her plate. She stood when Fred entered the dining room, went to him, and kissed him, unaware of his sick appearance.

Fred's face was a little green, his light hair barely tamed, and his trousers loosely clipped with brass suspenders. His collar was turned up in spots where he had tried, and failed, to fold it, but otherwise looked wonderfully cheery.

"Hello wife, sister," he addressed the women, "I'm sorry I'm late, I had to take a long bath."

"It didn't help, I see," Margaret contradicted with a grin. "I hope John will fare better."

Fred snorted and took a big slice of cheese from the table.

"Don't think so," he said through a mouthful of Gouda, "I think he drank more than me."

Fred took a seat by Dolores's abandoned chair, and a moment later John appeared, looking stately and handsome as ever, no evidence of his ordeal, other than a slightly paler face, to mark his heroic adventure.

"Margaret," he greeted her with a kiss, "You look well this morning."

"How do you feel?" she whispered to him.

"Like Hell, my dear," he flashed her a look. They both smiled, and he took a large plateful of assorted things from the table, taking particular interest in the toast and yogurt that sat out in a crystal dish.

He too sat beside his wife, and, stately as he dared, endured to devour his portion. Once this was done, he and Margaret went out on the terrace, where they leaned against the railing and gazed out upon the sea.

"That feels better," he said, closing his eyes against the balmy breeze. "Perfect."

When he opened his eyes, he caught his wife glancing at him with a quizzical expression."Yes, love?" he asked, regarding her with a little lift of the eyebrow.

"Its wonderful to see you relax," she mentioned, taking his hand in hers, "I will be sad to leave, for I have learned so much these weeks."

"Aye," he replied, lifting her hand to his lips, "but when we get home we can settle down for a couple of weeks. I cannot leave my work forever."

The mention of his work dampened her spirits, thinking of that cottony, white mill, and a thought came to her head.

"John," she cocked her head, "if we have a family, can we keep a place in the south, Helstone mayhaps? For family?"

John considered it for a moment, then, deciding, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Near your old home, or further into the country?"

Margaret, pleased, cried out in delight, and rewarded her husband with a tight hug around the waist, her hand still in his.

"It will be wonderful," she beamed, "a place for the summer to escape."

"Mm," John looked back to the sea, a speculative expression on his face. "Now you've mentioned that, Maggie, I wanted to ask your opinion on something." Margaret looked at him expectantly.

"I have an idea for business, but it may be risky," he continued, "I wish to start another mill, and work with more cotton manufacturers in the Americas. There is a man in Chicago who wishes to meet with me, but I would have to be away again. I don't want to leave you in Milton with my mother and sister, and was wondering, would you come with me again? If this venture works, we could expand our enterprise, and make Marlborough Mills a household name. People use cotton there, in America, and they are beginning to rely on it more and more since the fabrics are durable and soft."

"That sounds wonderful!" Margaret replied, "and of course I would come to Chicago with you! I heard it is a fabulous city."

"I have heard the same," John looked pleased. "I have to say, though, that we would not have much time home before we would have to leave again." Margaret loved the way that "home" rolled off his tongue so easily and sounded so right, so perfect, in her ears.

"I don't mind," Margaret shook her glossy head, "if we must go, then we will. I am sure Nicholas can handle everything until we are home. Perhaps we can hire more help to run the finances and the shipping sector?"

"I was thinking of your friend Henry Lennox, actually," John seemed oblivious to Margaret's discomfort, "I mean, he is a brilliant businessman, and, I recall, a good friend of yours from the Helston days."

Unable to contradict him, Margaret pursed her lips and nodded. Henry would do just fine.

Just then Fred scared them both by putting his hands down suddenly on their shoulders.

"Hey you two," he chuckled at their surprise, "Dolly thinks we should spend the day at the beach. If you agree, get your things, and we will take the carriage to a point we are rather fond of."

Both Margaret and John agreed, and, with the proper bathing costume arrangements made, went back into the house to gather supplies.

**AN: So what do you think about the house in Helston? The business proposition from the man in America? Henry working with John?! I have an idea for the future, but they are just in the honeymoon stage. I am planning for things to get a lot more real very fast. But not that fast...I still want some more lovey stuff before I mess with—ah, change their circumstances. Read & Review for more!**


	10. Chapter 10 The Diamond

Margaret gasped and pulled at the wet railing of the listing _Diamond_, feet slipping on the bow. She cried out for John, but could not see him, and the ship lurched dangerously again, soaking her skirts and causing her to scream, desperate for John. No one else was there; or at least she did not notice them for her terror. Desperate, she grappled her way along the side of the tilted vessel calling for John as she went. Her stomach hurt terribly, and she tripped over an overturned lawn chair, sliding and scraping her palms on the deck.

Waves crashed mercilessly upon her, and she felt her eyes stinging with sea water. She began to lose her grip, and screamed one last time for John as she tumbled into the black water, eyes wide with terror.

She awoke, bathed in sweat, in John's arms. His eyes were worried, and he was holding a cold cloth to her forehead.

"Maggie. Thank goodness. You had a bad dream."

Margaret barely heard him, shaking violently, focused on his handsome face. She forced herself to breathe, to recapture herself, but her eyes still felt raw and when she reached up to touch them she found they were damp from crying, though she did not recall ever doing so.

To console herself, and save her sanity, she took the cloth from her forehead, put it on the night stand, and smiled weakly.

"Thank you, John," she said stiffly, "I think I will be alright now."

"Are you sure?" John replied, concern in his eyes and the way his mouth curved in a sceptical frown, "You aren't sick, darling?"

"No, no," Margaret scoffed, all bravado,"I suppose I am just nervous about going home. I did not much like such a long journey."

John's face relaxed, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I did not much fancy it either, Maggie. What happened in your dream?"

"I..." Margaret wasn't sure how to proceed. Her husband did not seem a superstitious man, but she did not wish to worry him. "The ship, it was called the _Diamond_, I think—hit some rocks. Its absurd, of course. Just a little nonsense."

"Yes, indeed," John replied, "Especially since we are going home on the _Kismet _with a straight route. There will be no rocks like on the coastline." Margaret knew that John did not understand what he was saying, but appreciated his attempt to comfort her.

"Quite right," Margaret had stopped shaking, "and anyways, its time to leave!"

John looked as if he had only noticed the clock in the corner of the room, chiming to alert them that it was six in the morning, the time when they had to drag themselves out of bed and prepare for the day, and their voyage.

With little kisses they stood, dressed, and after a rushed breakfast, found themselves at the pier, the dream all but forgotten. Fred and Dolores gave them a box of food for the journey, as well as a small mounted photograph of them as a family, the day they went to the beach. Fred shook John's hand and Dolores burst into tears as she handed Margaret a small package wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief with the orders not to open it until she was safely home.

Margaret thanked her, and handed the little Spanish woman her own gift. It was a bonnet she had found as they were shopping in town, and Dolores had admired it, but not bought it, for account of wishing to spend the money on the baby. Dolores cried out in delight when she saw it, and gave her sister in law another delicate embrace.

Margaret turned to Fred when she and Dolores broke apart, and saw that his eyes were dry, but barely. He embraced his sister with the warmth he had when he had come to see their mother, and he kissed her hair.

"Safe travels," he murmured into her curls, letting her go when John tapped her on the shoulder, reminding her that he must board. Margaret would not allow herself to be annoyed, and with one last kiss to her brother and his wife, she followed her husband onto the _Kismet, _and to their cabin.

Margaret saw Fred and Dolores leave the docks, and turned back to John, taking a seat on their bed. They waited for the great beast to leave port, but when after an hour nothing happened, John swung out of the room to check on their status. He came back in a couple of minutes later, and began to pick up their things, slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"They are transferring us," he said by way of explanation, "Something about the engines."

"We'll still leave today?" Margaret asked, worried.

"Oh sure," John paused and smiled, "our accommodations are not as nice, and the ship is older, but they said the _Diamond_ is as good a ship as any, and can take us today." A shiver ran up Margaret's spine when he mentioned the new vessel, but, her dream forgotten, did not understand why.

She followed John back outside, and with much wrestling in the crowds, figuring out where their trunks had gone, and finally, boarding the new boat, they were settled into their smaller, darker cabin and John stretched out on the bed, hands behind his back.

"We should go out and see everything," Margaret commented, squinting through the tiny porthole.

"When we are out to sea the corridors will be more open," John replied, not even opening his eyes. "For the time, come here, woman. I haven't had a proper minute alone with you since our honeymoon." Margaret turned sharply, and saw that John wore a wolfish grin.

Loath to deny him, she went to his side and curled up beside him, closing her own eyes against his strong warmth. He peppered her hands and arms with kisses, and soon the ship, and the exploration thereof, was thoroughly forgotten.

She awoke to the sensation of rocking, and felt herself side off the bed. Grappling madly, she pulled at their sheets, and John awoke with a start, catching her arm as she slipped onto the floor.

"Oh!" Margaret huffed, the cabin still as calm as a dervish. John leaned over and pulled her back into bed as yet another wave roared mercilessly against the thin metal of the hull.

"Margaret! Are you alright?" John's voice was hoarse as he spoke up against the noise, "What's going on?"

Margaret could not reply so she shook her head in response and attempted, on wobbly legs, to stand.

"Stay here," John said, sitting up on his knees, and retrieving his coat. He laced up his shoes with rushed fingers, and was soon gone, leaving Margaret to stare after him, a bruise blooming on her bottom from where she had fallen.

She herself slipped on her dressing gown, her slippers, and hastily pinned up her hair, ready to flee. She stuffed a carpet bag full of her and John's belongings, and peered out the tiny porthole, where beyond the sea was black and the waves rolled white and vicious against the window.

Feeling sick, she remembered her dream with a jolt, and, with one hand braced against the wall, used the other to clutch her stomach. She was about to go out and search for her husband, but with a bang the door opened again and John reentered, looking considerably less concerned. When he noticed Margaret's white face and the bag at her feet, his face softened.

"We're just into a storm, Maggie," he explained, "the captain has assured me, there is nothing to worry about." Margaret nodded shakily, forcing herself to quell the nausea that had begun to rise in her stomach. "Here, come with me to the upper deck. You might feel better in the dining room." He offered his hand, and she took it, following him out of of their cabin and out into the hall, where other couples and people had begun to leave their own quarters in various states of undress.

Numbly, she went with John, and they climbed the stairs with unsteady feet. Once above decks, they were seated in the dining room where the chairs and tables were bolted to the floor. The patrons there looked cheery enough, and a server came around with bowls of mashed potatoes and chicken.

Margaret waved off her portion, and John only picked at his.

"Where do you think we are?" she asked, bracing herself against the chair as another wave rocked her sideways.

"I can't be sure," John replied, "but we must be off the coast of France."

"Oh," Margaret replied, "do you think we will be forced to make landfall if this continues?"

"I hope not," John replied, glancing out the thick windows to the sea, "the sooner we are home, the better."

"Oh, I forgot," Margaret said, surprised her husband hadn't shown any further signs of sea sickness, "how do you feel?"

"Like rubbish," John grinned back, and Margaret noticed the fatigue around his eyes and mouth. He looked exhausted, and his skin had a slightly green appearance.

"You didn't sleep?" Margaret asked.

"Oh no," John replied ruefully, "you fell asleep and I stared at the ceiling hoping the rocking wouldn't get worse. It did when you fell off the bed, and then I went to see what was wrong. The walking helped though," he pressed her hand over the table.

"You must stay with me," Margaret very nearly begged, her premonition coming back to her in a rush.

"I will," John replied, frowning to see the fear in his young wife's eyes, "this will all right itself, you know."

There was a loud crashing, and the windows on the port side were blown inwards, showering the occupants with briny sea water and razor-like glass. John pulled Margaret under the table, and they huddled together in the semi-darkness.

Someone called, and suddenly Margaret was being ripped away from John. She tried to struggle, but could only thrash against her captor as she was drug to the lifeboats, the sound of "women and children first" ringing in her ears.

"John!" she screamed, "John!"

She could not see him, and her stomach dropped to her toes, fear making her eyes large and her breathing laboured. "John!" she tried again.

This time she heard him through the fog of noises and people.

"Margaret! I love you!" He called back against the din, "Its alright! I'll meet you in Dover!"

The lifeboat descended into the murky blackness, and she could no longer hear her beloved, though she searched frantically for him on the listing _Diamond_.

"Dover!" she screamed, one last time, for the hope that he would hear. If she had to wait years there she would. She would see him return. Or die waiting.

**AN: sorry for the incredibly long delay... yarp, I'm evil. R&R to determine John's fate, its in YOUR hands (Muahahaha!)**


	11. Chapter 11 Reunion

But Margaret didn't meet John in Dover. That night, the night the ship went down, she boarded a small fishing vessel headed for the coast of France. There, shivering and alone, she was admitted into a church where the father and parishioners were working to make a place for the refugees. Mothers and wives, like her, huddled, and cried, their faces pale and their fingers trembling as they adjusted their shawls or strings on their babies bonnets.

They showed her to a bed, but she would not lay down. She could not cry, nor could she sleep. A queer feeling had begun in her stomach, something more than grief, and it was fast becoming overwhelming until, with a cry, she clutched her stomach and fell to the floor, panting and gasping for air. Her vision went black, then came back, and she felt a warm rush down her legs. Horrified, she called for help, but with the din of the ramshackle organization and the cries of bereaved mothers and children, her voice was drowned to a whisper.

Her sight began to go again, and she curled up, terrified, on the floor, black pool at her belly. She tried to blink, but on the third try, the world went dark and she screamed. A shape came close, and then she was gone.

She did not know when, but she eventually awoke, a wet cloth to her forehead and a kindly looking nurse shuffling around a tray of bread and eggs at her feet. When the woman noticed her, she smiled and took Margaret's hand.

"The worst is over now, love," she said in a heavily English voice, "You will go home soon, and all will be well."

"What happened?" Margaret asked stupidly, feeling dizzy and hungry, but otherwise fine.

"You had a miscarriage dear," the woman said with a compassionate pat on her hand. "You might not have known you were pregnant, it was such a wee thing."

"Pregnant?" Margaret replied, stunned, "how far? What happened?"

"No more than two months. It must have been the stress, I think. Your husband is well though, all the men are. They sent word that they were picked up and taken to some coastal village."

"How..." Margaret trailed off, "how long was I asleep?"

"Four days, love," the woman handed her a glass of water. She took it with greedy fingers. "There were no casualties, just a dog or somesuch."

"Oh," Margaret closed her eyes, feeling exhausted, "but I lost my baby."

"Yes," the woman replied in a sympathetic voice.

"I lost my baby," she repeated, her hands trembling, causing the water to spill. The woman took it from her and she covered her face in her hands, suddenly unable to control herself. She sobbed and leaned into her stomach, desperate to feel something, anything that would falsify the woman's claims, but, finding none, she sunk further into the sheets and felt her tears well up into her hands. Warm arms surrounded her, and the woman hugged her, letting her weep into her shoulder.

"Shh," she cooed, "you are well, your husband is well, shh."

When Margaret found her control again, the woman looked down at her and spoke. "I lost a child too once," she sighed, "he was much bigger than yours, mind, almost ready to be born, but I have other children now. It doesn't mean that I don't still love him, but you cannot grieve."

Margaret accepted this silently, without question from this kindly stranger, and nodded, drying her eyes with her sleeve.

"Will I ever be able to have another?" she asked tentatively—fearfully.

"Oh gracious yes," the woman smiled, "as many as you want. You will be alright, I know it because I was too." She stood, and feeling her departure keenly, Margaret called to her when she was at the door with the tray of food.

"Pray, what is your name?"

"Ivy Pembrook, dear," Ivy replied, bring the toast to Margaret's side. "You are Margaret Hale, as I understand."

"No, no," Margaret shook her head, "I'm Margaret Thornton. I must have had an old card."

"Yes, maybe," the woman's brow furrowed, "maybe."

Something was wrong, and Margaret's heart sped like a trapped bird.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing," Ivy replied, "only I do not remember a Thornton on the registrar. Perhaps I am mistaken."

"You must be," Margaret said rather loudly, her anxiety getting the better of her, "everyone was recovered?"

"Oh yes," Ivy's smile returned, "there is nothing to fear, Mrs Thornton. Forgive me, my memory is not what it used to be."

"Yes, that must be it," Margaret willed herself to believe.

Ivy left her then, and she stood, a little dizzy. She told John she would meet him in Dover, and she could see no reason to stay. She had lost the baby she never knew and she could not let John wait for her, fretting over her. She would not tell him about the baby, she decided, she would wait and if she got pregnant again she would mourn in secret. John needn't know.

With this thought, she adjusted her dress and pulled on her boots. Extremely weary of ships but unable to find any way around them, she asked for the ships roster and boarded the Dover Packet at noon. From there she sat on a bench, her nerves on fire. Several times she thought she saw his black hair, but when she squinted, she saw that it was only the sun in her eyes. A few men looked like him—similar in build and height, but never with his face.

Panic began to swell in her stomach and she felt her fingers go ice cold. She didn't know where he would be, so the only choice would be to wait or go to all the inns and taverns and ask after him. She chose the latter, and began walking from inn to inn, enquiring after him and giving the barmaids a detailed description of her lost husband. One, two, three, seven inns... she searched and asked, wept and pleaded, but no one had seen a black haired man wearing a gentleman's jacket and looking after his wife.

Defeated, she found a place overlooking the chilly, stinking pier, and clasped her hands in front of her, close to her chest. She would not leave her spot or perhaps she would miss him and from her place she had a vantage point of the ships and their passengers shuffling in and out of the many vessels that crowded for purchase on the slick grey warf.

Ships sailed in and out, lazy in the coastal air, going but never staying long. Some came in to deliver cargo. Other came to deliver people or animals for the colonies, but not one held John Thornton. A keen pain touched her chest, and she thought about the train ride in Helston. Perhaps fate would again shine on their love, but in the throes of fear she worried that it would not. Irrational fears began to flood her mind, and she imagined him, going down with the ship, never to see her again, or that he was captured by pirates and towed away to some African place.

Frozen to her seat by her thoughts, she missed the many people coming and going around her, away from her and towards, so much so that when she heard a faint voice in the distance she almost missed it. It sounded like John, and was coming from the tavern behind her. She swivelled around, that pure, forbidden hope rising almost intoxicatingly into her heart.

Standing, she went to the pub, but at the door she was stopped by a large man, his arms crossed resolutely across his chest.

"No women."

"Pardon?" Margaret asked, eyes hard.

"This is a gentleman's club, Miss."

"My husband might be in there," Margaret argued, "I need to see him."

"Believe me, darling," the man said with a short laugh, "you won't want to even live with him if he goes to a place like this."

"Please," Margaret peeked around his waist, only to see a busy bar and some exotic women traipsing around with next to nothing covering themselves.

"I'm sorry luv," the man replied.

"Oh," Margaret replied. She bit her lip, then, on an impulse, swerved around him and into the building. He tried to catch her but before he could she yelled out,

"John! Has anyone seen John Thornton?"

"I'll be John if you want," an ugly prostitute with thick red lips replied.

"I'm not sure how that's possible..." Margaret trailed off, just as the barman took her by the arm and dragged her back outside. As he was pulling her, she glanced over to the bar and saw a man walking across the way with his back to her. His black hair and dark coat looked familiar, but she was blocked for a second and he was gone.

"John!" she cried, "John, please, John!"

"Go home, woman," the barman shook his head, annoyed. "Your husband either isn't here or doesn't want to see you."

"You don't understand!" Margaret nearly shouted back, "I thought I heard him! Please!"

"Ah," the man replied, "alright. Go home." He clearly did not believe her and she was furious. With a huff she stomped off and found a place to stay. It was a small inn near the water and she stormed in with her hands deep within her pockets.

The innkeeper gave her an amused look when she saw the state of her newest patron, and, with a resolved stance, took out a key from a cubby on the wall.

"Its two pounds a night," the woman said, "washroom is behind the bar, and I have one room left. I assume its only you?"

"Yes," Margaret replied, torn down by the woman's harsh tone.

"Well then, I'll take half now and half in the morning."

Margaret dug into her pocket, and found she had just enough for a night and a train ticket back to Milton. Handing the coin to the woman with reluctant fingers, she was handed the key and shown to her room. It was dark, and the innkeeper handed her a lantern.

"Its a warm night," she said, "so fire will cost extra. Its a guinea per log."

"I see," Margaret replied, surveying her room. It was small and grey, with a thin mattress and flat pillow.

There was a pause, and the woman stared at Margaret expectantly.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well?" Margaret replied, confused.

"Do you want fire or not?"

"Oh, no," Margaret shook her head, "that will be alright. Thank you, Mrs...?"

"Its Miss, Miss Swilling," the woman replied.

"Alright, thank you then, Miss Swilling."

"As you like," Miss Swilling sighed, clearly tired with the chatter. "If you need anything, I will be down in the morning. Ring the bell if I'm not there."

The door closed and she was left alone. She glanced at the bed, and, with a sigh of her own, curled up on the hard slab and quickly fell asleep, exhaustion and grief causing her to be pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the morning she awoke stiff and uncomfortable and made her way down to the kitchen, key in hand. She had a plan this morning; she would go back to Milton and write wanted ads for him. He had to see those, or someone who knew him would.

She finished paying Miss Swilling and knocked into a man at the door. She was trying to move past him, her eyes downcast, but she only managed to knock, hip-first into him. He looked at her, and she stopped dead.

With a scream she threw her hands around his shoulders and kissed him as many times as she could; on the face, neck and hands.

"Maggie," he said, his voice quiet and relieved.

"Oh John," she replied, leaning back to look at him.

"Are you well?" he asked, stroking her cheek.

"John," she broke down sobbing into his chest, "I—I lost our baby." John seemed shocked for a moment, then gathered her in his arms and kissed her hair.

"Shh," he cooed, "it will be alright. You are well, and so am I. That's what matters."

She continued to cry into him for another minute, but when she had dried her eyes he mad a wan comment.

"So I suppose diamonds really aren't a girl's best friend?" she slapped him on the shoulder.

"No, you silly, you are."

"Want to go home?" He took her hand.

"Oh gosh yes," Margaret replied, "but never do that to me again."

"And you, my darling. When we get home we have to spend a good long time with the family. _I never want to have any regrets." _

Margaret kissed him again and, in a better mood than she had been in weeks, they walked out of the dark inn and into the bright sunlight.

**AN: So I'm making this short, and I know this should be longer, but thank you for reviewing. If you are still interested, or want more, drop me a line and I might be able to pull off another chapter. Spoiler:* there's a baby in the future!* Haha, R&R**


	12. Chapter 12 An Unnexpected Occurance

Barely a month after their safe arrival home, Margaret noticed a rather strange and alarming change. While it was true that she had lost her baby, her stomach had continued to grow and her appetite had picked up at a voracious speed. John had no doubt noticed, but under the same belief as herself, he had not commented on her new and fuller figure.

On the other hand, business had been incredible, and the man from Chicago had even offered to pay John's passage to America, with a full stay at their most luxurious hotel and, if he wished it, a tour of the State. Of course John had accepted, though, like his young wife, had still been weary of ships since their last fateful encounter.

In addition to his invitation, he still needed to purchase a new wardrobe as his own had gone down with the Diamond, a fact that he had been grumbling about most loudly. Of course Margaret had also lost her dresses and the contents of her wedding packet that fateful day, but to John the acquisition of, and the hassle of fitting new clothing was a cumbersome, costly, and more or less unnecessary endeavour.

"Really Maggie," he had said that morning as he shuffled around, half blind in their dark bedroom, "I don't see all the fuss. I still have my black suit and all my dinner jackets. What does the color or state of my cravat have to do with my professionalism?"

"You must look the part, darling," Margaret replied patiently from the covers, "to be a professional, you must look it as well as perform the duties of one."

"Oh, I suppose," John grumbled, coming back to their bed, "but suppose I want to stay here all day, what would I need for that?"

"Your wits," Margaret leaned over to kiss his lips, "for I would distract you most horribly." With this saucy intone John flopped down beside her and tickled her through her nightgown. She giggled and batted his hands away.

"You really must go, sweet," she said breathlessly, "you are late as it is already."

"So eager to have me gone eh?" His hands moved from her waist to her shoulders and he nipped her neck. She leaned into he touch and closed her eyes, almost forgetting herself and only collecting herself when he pulled away slightly to tug at her collar.

"You have to go," she insisted, pushing him away gently. John gave her one of his famous, passionate looks but stood and put on his shoes. She watched him as he opened the door and left her, murmuring, "you look beautiful, my dear. I will see you soon."

Not long after his departure Margaret herself stood up, and when her maid placed her stays around her waist, she paused and flattened her chemise against her belly. There was a noticeably bump there, and it felt warm, as if it was alive.

Confused, but not willing herself to believe the impossible, she did her stays and went to visit Fanny. She herself was pregnant with her first child, and was in confinement at her home. When Margaret rung for her, her wet-nurse, Nanny answered and took the young woman to see her charge. In Fanny's spot by the fire sat a chubby blond Fanny, her belly bulging with child.

"Oh Margaret!" Fanny cried, "How good to see you! I hope you are well, after that wretched ship business."

"Oh quite well," Margaret replied, "more now that I was finally able to see you. What are you calling the little one?"

"Stanley if its a boy, named after my dear husband's late father, or Florence, for my grandmother," Fanny beamed. "My dear husband says it will be a boy but I dearly wish for a girl to buy pretty things for."

"Yes," Margaret nodded, "but you are lucky for your baby. John told you how we lost ours."

"But I do not believe it!" Fanny squawked, "I know a woman in confinement, me myself being one, and I was sure you too were. Come, let me touch your belly."

"Oh really," Margaret began,

"Just come," Fanny insisted, waiting until Margaret was near enough to touch. "See now, how your belly turns, you will have a baby too."

"That is impossible," Margaret shook her head, "I just lost mine."

"Come," Fanny patted her sister-in-laws hand, "I don't know how but you may be with child again. Ask the doctor to come and look at you, or perhaps call my midwife Mrs Baker. I will send her over this afternoon. It never hurts to be sure, you know," she added to Margaret's stubborn look, "if it is indeed a baby you must be sure."

"And if it is not?" Margaret replied in a panicked tone, "what if I cannot give John a baby and I am just getting fat? He'll have no choice but to cast me out."

"Gracious me!" Fanny laughed, "how melodramatic you are! You have not been wed for a year and you fret so! If you are worried simply ensure he comes to your bed every night and stays til the morning if you are so concerned." Margaret colored scarlet.

"He's you brother Fanny! How can you speak so?"

"It is precisely because he is my brother that I have license to," Fanny replied, nonplus, "there can be no shame. We're all the same."

"But honestly," Margaret only turned redder, "I am not sure how you can be so matter of fact."

"You wish me to be frank?" Fanny challenged with a playful smirk, "then if you worry, go to bed wearing nothing but your favourite perfume and rose petals on your breasts. He'll see you and you'll barely be able to escape. Not that you would be terribly inclined to. He'll—," she was cut off by a knock on the door, and her midwife, Mrs Baker, popped into the room. "Oh Mrs Baker!" Fanny grinned, "what timing!"

"Yes, well I was on my way and I realized that I forgot my hat. I do apologize."

"Nonsense, old thing," Fanny shook her head, helping herself to a sweet on the coffee table, "say, would you have a moment to look at my sister-in-law?" Mrs Baker's eyes fell on Margaret's slightly distended stomach and she nodded, a tender look in her old eyes.

"Come then dear," she beckoned to Margaret, "Let me take a look."

"You may use the guest room," Fanny intoned and with that the scarlet Margaret followed the lady into the hall and to the guest bedroom. There she helped loosen Margaret's stays and gently compressed her belly, finger probing around her abdomen.

"Yes," she murmured as she finished her ministrations, "there is no doubt, you are with child dear."

"How?" Margaret asked, "I only just lost my first."

"That is fairly common," Mrs Baker replied calmly, "you were pregnant with twins, it would seem and when something, perhaps a stressor, triggered action, you lost one twin, perhaps due to a fall that damaged it. You other should be quite healthy, however." It took Margaret a moment to remember how to breath, and her hands instinctively found the tough little ball in her stomach. She folded her skirts neatly, and she felt herself growing faint.

"How far?" she wheezed, shocked.

"I would say around eight weeks," Mrs Baker looked over her half rimmed spectacles. "I take it you were not expecting this."

"No," Margaret replied automatically, "I just lost my first... twins you say? My lord."

"If you wish, I could help you. I will deliver Fanny's baby, and I could be of service to you as well."

"That sounds so odd," Margaret was barely listening, "I cannot believe it. I was so worried, but I never told my husband. Thank you, Mrs Baker."

"My pleasure," Mrs Baker replied. "Shall we tell Fanny?"

"Yes," Margaret replied, and the two went back to the parlor, where Fanny was sitting with a tray of the oddest looking sandwiches Margaret had ever seen. They appeared to be minced tuna with red jelly and pickles.

"Oh Margaret!" Fanny grinned, patting the place beside her, "what news?"

"I am having a baby," Margaret said in a hollow voice, taking Fanny's proffered seat.

"Have a sandwich," Fanny replied, "you will be hungry."

Margaret took one and without thinking, ate it. The afternoon after that was a muddled blur as she wandered in town. Not willing to believe Mrs Baker, she made an appointment with her own doctor, and after a repeat prognosis she found herself in the hardware shop, picking up a couple things for the house. Just as she was about to leave she saw a little bonnet in soft yellow, and, without thinking, picked it up and went home.

She went about her business quietly, and sat for a long time simply staring at the bonnet. She sobbed for grief at losing one of her twins, but then, when she had dried her eyes, went to the spare bedroom that was to be the nursery. She took the bonnet and placed it on the window sill, watching the grey Milton outside. Not sure how to tell John, she pondered for a long while until she heard footsteps up the stairs with John's familiar tread. He called for her, but when he came to the nursery door he paused.

She felt him come to her and put his hands on her shoulders, comforting her.

"Maggie," he said quietly, slowly, as not to startle her.

She turned about, and buried her face in his chest.

"John," she finally said when she felt him lean over and pick up the bonnet, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh Maggie!" He exclaimed, holding her out so he could look in her eyes, "that's wonderful! But how?"

"We had twins," Margaret's eyes welled up again, "I lost one, but not the other."

"Oh Maggie," he said again, this time quietly, comforting her, "we are having a baby!"His joy was infectious and he hugged her tightly, wiping away her tears with his thumb. He kissed her on the head, and brushed away her mussed hair. "But you look tired darling, have you been to see Fanny?"

"Yes," Margaret blushed to think of her conversation, "she is well."

"Oh I know," John rolled his eyes, "and eating like a horse. Did you know she ate a jam covered meat pie with sweet cream and sardines whilst I was there?" He shuddered and Margaret laughed.

"You had better not make fun of me when I get like that," Margaret teased, "she gave me a tuna and jam sandwich today, and I quite enjoyed it." John chuckled with her, and she followed him down to the dining room where their new cook, Agnes had just put out the dinner. Margaret was shocked for a moment before remembering that John was home because it was night, and he worked late that day. She glanced at the clock, and realized it was already quarter after six. She had let it get dark while she was in the nursery and had not noticed.

Shaking her head, the two ate and he told her about his day, sneaking fairly obvious looks at her with a proud, happy smile. He seemed not to care that she had lost their first baby, but merely glad they had saved one of their twins and when they went up to bed she was content, rather than cross, with his exultant glances.

In bed she sat up as he tidied up for the night, propped against her pillows, one hand resting on her stomach. She couldn't believe it, and she still felt shocked. When John settled in beside her, he kissed her gentle and looked down at her belly.

"May I touch?" he asked in such a tender, nervous voice that Margaret had to stifle a laugh.

"Of course, John, I will not break." He gave her a look, and placed one hand on her bump. She was amazed at the tenderness in which he bestowed upon their new creation, and when they settled in, he kept his arms around her waist.

She closed her eyes and he kissed her neck.

"Mother will be upset," he commented.

"Why?" Margaret turned around so their nosed were inches from each other.

"She'll expect us to name our child after either her or my father."

"And we will not?" Margaret asked.

"I should hope not," John shook his head, "for if we did our child would bear one of their worst traits by nature."

"What do you suggest then?" Margaret replied, "I would name it after my mother or father but I fear the same."

"I've always liked Walter," John mused.

"So you hope we have a boy!" Margaret said in mock horror.

"What sort of man would I be if I wished otherwise?" John quipped, "but if it is not, she will be the most beautiful girl the world has seen."

Margaret ignored this, and mused some more. "I like America for a girl, I knew one growing up, or Leah. For a boy I like Owen or Timothy."

"Leah Thornton," John said, "that sounds nice. Or Timothy Thornton—the ring is quite pleasant."

"Did you know Fanny wants to name her child Stanley if it is a boy?" John snorted and Margaret turned to him sharply.

"Oh heaven help me!" he laughed, "why would she call him that? Stanley was our dog!"

"You had a dog?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," John was still chuckling. "If she calls him that I fear I will never be able to see him without shouting 'come boy, come!'"

"Oh you," Margaret smacked his arm playfully, "It is for her husband's father or something. Don't be so cruel."

"Should we get a dog?" John changed tacks abruptly, looking at the ceiling.

"If you wish," Margaret replied.

...And so began tale of how they acquired Lewis Thornton.

**AN: so a longer chapter. What did you all think? Thank you so much for all the support and story alert subscriptions, they make me want to write! Hehe so here it is and if you are all still interested I will post a new chapter as soon as I can. What do you think of the names? I wanted really traditional ones, and I saw America and Leah and I thought they were kind of unusual. Not that I'm an American or anything, but I thought it had a nice ring to it. And the boy names? Owen, Walter or Timothy...? Ideas? If you want to suggest names just drop me a line! As always, R&R. Plus... in the next chapter... the adventures of Lewis Thornton as a bonus! Oh, also if there are any glaring typos I'm really sorry, I kinda just flew through this. I was really into it :P**


	13. Chapter 13 Lewis

**AN: so this was a little extra chapter I did to get the creative juices back, so when I have a break from exams I will upload the human story. Thanks for reading, and if you want more, R&R!**

Lewis was a stray, named by the pound man. For much of his young life he had spent his time chasing cats and aggravating neighbours with his chicken stealing and trash diving, which, incidentally, was what had wound him up in the Milton pound. It was an awful place to be sure; dirty and dark, cold and miserable. There his coat had become matted with fleas, and his little brown eyes had begun to weep, for sadness or poor diet.

He waited patiently, however, but had been disappointed when dog after dog had been selected before him. Perhaps it was his long, un-docked tail, or the fat brown patch over his eye. Whatever it was, it made him whimper and sit at the edge of his cage, waiting—waiting for someone to notice him.

He could not remember much of his old life as he lay on his paws in the dark. It seemed years, a thousand or more, that he had been free, wandering the grey cottony streets, playing with cats and eating rats in the gutter, they too fluffed with white. Someone had to want him, he was sure they did. Lewis was a good dog, and he would prove it. He would never eat another chicken or bully a cat again as long as he lived. So he waited, and days went by in that stifling darkness.

Dogs had come and gone, and without thinking, knew their fates by the brief yelps from the back and then the swift silence that followed. He saw the bodies, carried past the cages, and he shook, fear turning his bowels to water.

It was his turn, he knew it, when the pound man came for him with a pistol in his pocket. He shook, howling and biting, and nearly broke his leg on the urine slick cement when he heard a noise. The pound man stopped, and, through his haze of fear, saw a man with black hair and a fat woman. The man said something to the pound man, and he released Lewis, who shot into the back of the cage, tail between his legs.

The woman asked to see him, and coaxed him gently towards her. Fear dominating his senses, Lewis edged forward cautiously, but on approach, the smell of her and her kind words calmed him. His tail wagged, and he licked her hands, silently begging her to take him.

"What about him John?" the woman asked, glancing at the tall man. The man leaned down and Lewis nudged his hand, wanting a scratch.

"We we're going to gas him today," the pound man said uncaring. To this Lewis began to whimper again and huddled against the woman's legs, shaking. He did not understand the man, but knew the tone, and was afraid.

"Please John, we have to have him. We cannot let him die!" the woman lifted the dirty dog into her arms and ruffled his fur.

"Margaret..." the man, John, said, reluctant. Lewis's heart dropped to his tail, and eyes went wide. He knew this, the rejection, and knew what would happen if they did not want him.

"I want him. Look at his patches. Brown and black on white. He's like a checker board. You and I both know what will come of him."

The man leaned back on his haunches and turned to the pound man.

"How much for him?"

"Lewis? Five pounds."

John, to Lewis's amazement, pulled something from his pocket, and handed it to the pound man. The woman stood with Lewis awkwardly in her arms, for his long legs hung down, and when John nodded to her, she kissed her new mutt.

"You'll have a good home boy," she cooed as they left that horrible place forever, "I think we should be good friends."


	14. Chapter 14 A First Disagreement

**Thanks everyone for the support with fave stories/ notifications and reviews! It is what really makes me want to write and breaks that writers block! Thanks again, and cheers!**

Margaret took a visit from Mrs. Thornton senior one windy afternoon in her new parlour. The elder glanced around the room, and, with a dismissive sniff said,

"I gather my John has had his way with the room. The furnishings are not London style."

"No indeed not," Margaret replied carefully, surprised at the chilly comment, "but it was my choice you see. He lets me run our home and I let him run our mill."

"Your mill?" Mrs. Thornton scoffed, "it has been his by right since you married, and it will be his child's if you can give him a boy."

"I intend to," Margaret said stiffly. "Mrs. Thornton, has something I've said upset you?"

"No, no," Mrs. Thornton waved a hand dismissively, "only that, I hear, my grandchild will bear no Thornton name."

Margaret almost laughed with relief.

"We have spoken on it," she nodded. "John thinks it a taboo to name a child for its grandparent."

"Tis not!" Mrs. Thornton balked, "I was named for my mother and her mother before her and we were no grand family, I can assure you! What nonsense! Of course John does not think that." She wagged an accusatory finger at her daughter-in-law.

"Madam," Margaret felt her face flush red with anger, "I know my husband, and I know what he has said. We have, however, discussed other names."

"Like what?" Mrs. Thornton continued doggedly, ignoring Margaret's claim on her son, "I am sure they would do nothing if not shame me."

"We are calling our daughter America, after our good fortune with her, or Owen if it is a boy. We originally wanted Timothy and Leah, but we changed our minds."

"America?" Mrs. Thornton squawked, "have you not forgotten our war with them?"

"It was a long time ago," Margaret replied patiently, "and we are not naming her that for glorification. I think its pretty."

"Yes, well my aunt thought calling my cousin Britannia was nice too, and the silly creature ran away to India. I believe she married a raj or something and got eaten by an elephant." Margaret was sure there was no such thing as a 'raj' but did not correct the older woman, nor did she correct her that you could not, in fact, be eaten by an elephant. "Yes," Mrs. Thornton continued, "I love my country, but not that much. I still have other blood yet."

"I am sure you do," Margaret nodded, "but we—," Mrs. Thornton cut across her,

"Owen is nice," she mused, "yes. Name your child that if it is a boy."

"Meaning no disrespect," Margaret replied, "but what we name our child is hardly a concern for a grandmother. Her duty, as you would agree, is to love said child and not discriminate against its parents."

"Oh sure," Mrs. Thornton agreed at last, "but don't you dare call her 'Merica for short, or I shall shoot myself."

"That is agreed," Margaret laughed, calm again in the formidable presence of her mother-in-law.

"You know Fanny is due soon," Mrs. Thornton changed tack, "and her baby is to be named something equally ridiculous. Stanley was the name of our dog for lands sake! I don't care if it was my son-in-law's fathers name, it is just silly."

"John couldn't believe me when I told him either," Margaret smiled at last.

"And why should he have?" Mrs. Thornton replied, "Stanley. What a joke. In that case I dearly hope she has a daughter."

"John hopes it too," Margaret intoned, "he wants us to have the first boy."

"I'll put money to that," Mrs. Thornton agreed. Margaret gave her a scandalized look and the older woman guffawed. "Oh come now, you silly goose! You always knew my John was the favourite."

"Yes," Margaret replied, laying one hand on her swollen stomach, "but I did not think a grandmother about setting wagers on her own grandchildren."

"I can if I want," Mrs. Thornton was unapologetic, "for you see, my dear, when one has lived as long as I, you learn that in age there is safety. I do what I want simply because I can."

"Fair," Margaret shrugged, "but please do not wager on my child. My father, you know, would never have approved, being who he was and what he was."

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Thornton was dismissive again, "but you think John made no such wager? Ha! A mother still knows her son, dear. Your husband is a proud man. He will not pass a chance such as this."

"What does that mean?" Margaret's temper flared again at the smug look on her mother-in-law's face.

"I mean, dear Margaret, that you will be either making a fool of Fanny or a fool of John."

"Fanny is in on this too?" Margaret's eyes widened. "What is happening?"

"We used to wager small sums when we were poor," Mrs. Thornton explained. "Though John was never one for it, he was very lucky, and once, for fun, he wagered what he will wager on you, six pence. He won the game and paid our rent for the week. I wonder what he will give you if he wins.

"You mean, if _we_ win," Margaret corrected her, "I am as responsible as he."

"Not so," Mrs. Thornton replied, "you are _more,_ for you make the child. If he loses you must do what you can to please him."

"Will giving him a child not be enough?" Margaret replied incredulously, half ignoring Mrs. Thornton's ridiculous drivel.

"No no dear, this will be a matter of pride! You must go beyond your duties to console him!"

"I must?" Margaret gave up and played along, "what must I do?"

"You must make him his favorite meal and sit him down. You can tell him your sorry, and then, if he feels, he will forgive you."

"Oh thank god," Margaret forced the smile off her face, "but what if he doesn't forgive me?"

"He will," Mrs. Thornton looked in pain as she said it, "for he loves you. I have known him far longer than you lass. I can tell."

And with that the meeting was over, and Margaret, tired fro the exchange, went to the sitting room and played on the new oak piano for a time until she heard her husband's tread and the sound of him opening the door.

"Good evening Maggie," John said, a smile in his voice.

Even with her vexation with him, she was still glad to see him, and she rushed into his arms.

"According to your mother, you are a beast," she murmured into his jacket.

"My mother was here?" he asked, interested.

"Yes," Margaret pulled away, suddenly remembering the earlier conversation, "and she said you placed a wager if we shall have the first boy!"

"Fanny placed a wager against me," John chuckled, clearly unapologetic, "and I could do nothing but respond in kind."

"So you have no problem betting on our child?" Margaret cried, "I thought you were a frugal man, John Thornton."

"I am," John replied, kissing her head, "but in sibling rivalry, you see, I am powerless."

"Powerless indeed," Margaret pulled away when he moved for her lips.

"Really, Maggie," John grinned, "I don't care one fig if our child is a boy or girl. I know it will be perfect, because you are its mother. You were angry at me over less than a pound."

"I was not angry," Margaret shook her head, "I was merely vexed. There is a difference."

"Yes," John was finally allowed that long kiss, "but you are not vexed any longer?"

"Do not push your luck, dear," Margaret winked.

xxx

That night while in bed, Margaret glanced sidelong at her husband, who was laying on his back, hands behind his head.

"What do you think it will be?" Margaret asked him.

John rolled over and put his hands on her belly. "A—oh lets see, there that shape," he traced the outline of the bulge, "oh, and that one," he playfully poked her belly button, "and lets see, this," he put on ear to her stomach, "so, from all my evidence, we shall have a boy!"

"You really do want your boy," Margaret giggled, giving her husband a look.

"No Maggie! Feel! It feels like a boy!" John's eyes grew wide and honest like a child's.

"How can you tell?" Margaret smiled back.

"Because I was like this once! A man can always tell!"

"But a woman knows for sure," Margaret kissed him. "Anyways, get some sleep, it would do no good to fall asleep at the mill."

"Yes mother," John quipped. Margaret poked him hard in the side and he turned, laughing to her again.

"Oh you!" Margaret cried, "you!"

"Yes, me," John replied, "you know I only joke. I think it would be rather ghastly to have my mother order me about again. I much prefer it when you do it."

"Speaking of your mother," Margaret mused, "you know she is very angry that we aren't naming it for the Thornton's."

"I told you she wouldn't like it," John groaned. "What must I do to save you from her?"

"Nothing," Margaret replied, "I can handle her just fine." She did not mention the comment about the mill, for Margaret knew John's dependance on her was painful to admit, and that his downfall had quite deflated him when he had lost his property. She would not bring it up, because for him, he felt like he had failed in doing his duties as a Master of the time.

"I saw Lennox today," John remembered suddenly, "he will be coming to America with me after the confinement." Margaret's stomach did a nervous flip at the mention of Henry and the voyage to the States.

"Oh?" Her voice betrayed her anxiety.

"I thought about it, Maggie, and decided that we could not leave the baby alone, and sea travel is much to dangerous for a woman in your condition."

"My condition?" Margaret's eyes grew wide, "you never even asked me about it."

"I felt you would agree," John looked surprised, caught in his assumption.

"You should have asked," Margaret argued, "I still wish to go. They invited us both, you forget."

"I know, dear," John skirted the issue, aware that she was growing upset, "but I wanted to take Lennox so you could find a house in the country."

"We are still doing that?" Margaret was blindsided.

"Yes, I thought so. Business is quite good at the moment."

"Not that I would know," Margaret's bitterness returned. "Will you let me see the books? I can be a help to you. You know that."

"I thought you would be busy," there was an uneasy edge to John's voice. "Please, will you let me take care of it?"

Margaret ignored him.

"Are we fighting?" she asked. John made a face.

"We may be," he shrugged.

"The first one of our marriage," Margaret glanced over.

"We cannot agree on all," John moved a stray curl from her eyes, "it would be dull."

"It started with your mother," Margaret commented.

"And ended with...?" John asked.

"Me forgiving you for your awfulness," Margaret joked.

"So I am then? Forgiven?"

"I believe so."

"Good night, Maggie."

"Sweet dreams John."

**AN: so I wanted to add that, because guys can be pretty assuming, and no relationship is without dispute. John is a good character but his independence would not just poof away as soon as he was married. Old habits... you know. **

**Okie, so R&R if you want more! PS, its my birthday tomorrow ;P**


	15. Chapter 15 Samuel Watson

**AN: Sorry for the horrid delay, I was away! Thank you all for the reviews, adding me to your story alert subscriptions and putting me on your favorite stories list! But now I'm back and here's a chapter!**

Samuel Watson was born in the wee hours of the morning, July 7th to as good a welcoming committee as ever there was. His aunt, uncle, grandmother and father all stood around Fanny's bedroom door in anxious anticipation all through that night, listening to the muffled noise within—their hearts skipping every time they thought they heard the babe or the nurse came to update them on the status of their new family addition.

Margaret looked sick, and John held her hand, a funny look in his eyes. He had asked several times if she wished to rest or go home, but she had insisted on staying. After all, was there not money bet on this birth?

Watson himself looked impatient and a little pale. He kept checking his watch and whenever he heard Fanny's anguished cries, he would mutter "for God's sake." If this was for her suffering or his own, it was never asked and never answered however.

When the time did come, and the shrill cries of a newborn echoed through the house, it was as if there was a collective sigh of relief and the family piled in to the see what had come of their long night.

Fanny, red faced but smiling, lay back against her pillows, a big healthy looking boy in her arms. Margaret thought he was the most perfect looking she had ever seen. He had sweet ruddy cheeks, a little halo of blond duck fluff atop his head, and soft, squishy fingers that ended in smooth, beautiful crescent nails.

"Oh Fanny," she cooed, "what a lovely little thing! Is this Stanley?"

"Yes," Fanny used her free hand to take that of Watson's. "Stanley John."

John the elder, clearly shocked by this announcement, leaned closer to get a look at the child.

"Thanks Fanny." He gave his sister a kiss on her head and, using the most absurd voice Margaret had ever heard, said,

"Why hello there, little sir."

They all stopped adoring the infant and glanced up. John shrugged and said, as if it was common knowledge, "what? I like babies."

Mrs. Thornton, always one to add her two cents, turned to Fanny and said, in her most characteristic drawl, "tis a clever thing you named him for John, Fanny. It looks as if you have a brain in your head after all."

"Mother!" Fanny shot back, "why ever would you say that?"

"Perhaps your son will be like him, and you know he'll always have a place in the world." Fanny, seeing that she could not argue with her obstinate mother, stopped and kissed Stanley on the cheek. The baby began to wail and the nurse escorted the well-wishers back out into the hall.

When out, John and Margaret wished Watson and Mrs. Thornton goodnight and ordered a cab. John had lost the wager, but Margaret wondered if he still secretly desired a boy. She asked him as they settled in for bed, Luis stretched out across their feet.

"Now why would I suddenly change my mind?" John asked as he held her, her head resting gently on his chest. "I believe it will be a boy, but if it is a girl I will not be worried."

"Do you think it will be like Fanny's?" Margaret glanced up at her sleepy husband, his eyes closed and his full, soft lips relaxed.

"The way it looks?" he asked, no more than an exhausted whisper.

"Yes," Margaret clarified, "how small it is; how it looks and cries."

"It's a baby," John chuckled, "it will look as it pleases, dear. I do hope it looks naught like Fanny, though. I wish it to look like you and I."

"Well of course!" Margaret slapped his arm lightly, none too amused by his jest, "you understood my meaning."

"Mm," John nodded, "but you should sleep. You'll be exhausted in the morning. Isn't tomorrow that you see your cousin?"

"Edith!" Margaret remembered, "oh yes. But at any rate, if it was you having our child you may just be a little more concerned."

"It isn't due for another month, darling," John pulled her tight to his side, "when it gets closer believe me, I'll be the one they must sedate."

"Perhaps," Margaret said, "but I wish you to stay with me as long as you can. I don't want to do this alone."

"You won't be alone, love," John gave her a squeeze, "I promise. And you'll have Fanny, what little help she may be."

"She has been a friend to me," Margaret was surprised to hear herself defending her sister in law, "and I want our children to be fast friend. Darling, before you sleep—," she caught John drifting off, "what do you think our baby will look like?"

"Black or dark hair," John whispered, "with its mothers eyes and her spirit."

"And it's fathers nose," Margaret pressed her face into John's nightshirt and smiled.

"Oh I certainly hope not," John shuddered under her, "it would have a beak."

"You do not have a beak!" Margaret giggled, "you have a proper nose, what they call a 'roman nose.'"

"A roman nose?" John was playing along, "why I should hope not. Why, I am as local as the rocks. We fought the Romans with Boudicca!"

"You did?" Margaret grinned, "Oh how brave!"

They ended the conversation in silent laughter and, with one last goodnight kiss they were both asleep.

In the morning Margaret took breakfast in bed, and John slouched off to work, dark circles under his blue eyes.

Everyone knew Fanny had just given birth, so no one would question him. Nicholas, on the other hand, would no doubt arrive in his typical methodical way, and, upon seeing the Master, come and enquire as to how Mrs. Margaret was. He always had a soft spot for the southern lass, and the more John knew the more he suspected that Nicholas harboured a particular fatherly instinct for her, something that made him worry more for her than for the woman who had just brought a baby into the world.

John met Nicholas in the main foyer, and, like he suspected, enquired after Margaret. Assured that she was well, he handed a paper folder, stamped with the symbol of Marlborough Mills, over to the Master and squinted hard at John.

"I've spoken to the prospector from London," he began, "he thinks the property to be worth at least three thousand pounds."

"What did Lennox think?" John replied, "does he see it to be worth that?"

"Oh more," Nicholas waved a dismissive hand, "if you sold now, with all your interest, you and Margaret should be able to buy any house in Helston."

"Good," John began to walk towards his office and Nicholas followed, "my wife's been asking to see the books of late, and I didn't want her to know what I'm doing. I wish it to be a surprise. Not like the speculation fiasco, mind, but a pleasant one."

"Aye," Nicholas nodded sympathetically, "Aye."

Nothing was said for a moment until they were safely within the confines of his office. There, John turned to Nicholas and stared at him levelly across the table.

"Do you really think this American business will profit?"

"Oh aye," the latter nodded solemnly, "Perhaps when you get an office there I will find someone to mind it. Always wanted to go to America, me."

"That would suit you?" John couldn't say he was shocked.

"Oh yes," Nicholas replied, "Maybe I could take Mary with me. She might like the air."

"Right," John felt a twinge of regret for the systems that had made their lung burn and their bellies fill with cotton. He himself had worked in a mill as a lad, trying to support his family, and it was there where he had seen his chance. "No trouble today?"

"None," Nicholas said. "We've hired a few more workers, and they seem to be getting along. There's one from Ireland, but he's not scrappy like the others, and then there are two from someplace in Somerset." John nodded, but could not help himself from yawning. Nicholas gave him a critical look, and said with the utmost diplomacy, "Sir, you look dead beat. We can handle today if you want to go home."

"And do what?" John argued, his old sternness returning in the steel edge of his voice, "No. Margaret is in London with her cousin today and the house will be just me and Luis. Here, come show me what's new. That should keep me awake." And with that the two quit the office and went outside into the cottony wilderness.

**AN: I know this was short, and probably full of errors (Sorry, really jet lagged) but I couldn't go another day without posting. So here! Another chapter! Remember, more reviews ect = more story (most likely) Ok, too tired... R&R as always, cheers!**


	16. Chapter 16 The Hannah Thornton Incident

**AN: thank you all so much for your support! I'm so glad that people like this story enough to follow it ect. Right, so I have lots of ideas now, and it just comes down to how much I can put down per chapter. So without further adieu, I give you this.**

The week with Edith was lovely. Margaret missed John, but to have her cousin near so close to the end of her confinement was a comfort and a blessing. As the final month jitters grew, so too did Edith's assurances that "all would be well." It had been with Sholto hadn't it? Furthermore, she did her best to assure Margaret that what she feared was normal, and it had happened since the dawn of time.

"I was all nerves and fidgets," she explained as they sat together on the sunny veranda of her fashionable north London home. "I didn't have you to ask either, my dear."

"I know," Margaret shrugged, sipping the last dregs of her sweet tea, "I just—well, it's just this is all so new for me, especially since a year ago I had assigned myself to a life of spinsterhood."

Edith chortled at this and Sholto, who had been curled up beside her with a glass of his own, startled and dripped sticky tea on his mother's skirt.

"Mama," he said after she managed to mop up the little droplets left on her petticoat, "will aunty Margaret have a boy so he can be my brother?"

"A little cousin mayhaps, but if it is a girl she will do just as well." Sholto wrinkled his nose and shook his head vehemently.

"No! No girls! Papa says girls make ladies, and ladies make t-r-o-u-b-l-e!" He threw his hands up and stuck out his tongue, a supposed impression of his father. Both women laughed, but were there interrupted by the father in question, brows knit and eyes troubled.

"Edith dear, will you come here for a moment? Sorry Margaret—," he addressed her now, "we shall just be a second."

"Edith, taking her queue, followed her husband out with instructions for Sholto to remain seated with his second cousin until his mother's return.

When the pair did arrive back, Edith's face held a look of palpable relief, though there was a nervous little jump in her jaw.

"Whats wrong?" Margaret demanded, "John?"

"No," Edith replied, "your mother in law, Hannah Thornton, has taken ill. She had an affliction of the nerves. I believe they call it "having a stroke.""

"But she is still..." Margaret could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

"Yes, alive, dear," Edith replied. "John has just sent word from Milton but he said to stay put. He has called for doctors from London, and requires that you call for her sister who is in town."

"I did not know she had a sister," Margaret was perplexed, mentally running over her wedding guest list.

"One, apparently," Edith replied, "a miss Julia Bowd."

"I wonder why we did not have her at the marriage," Margaret mused for a moment. "Anyways, where did you say she lives? I must get her as soon as I can and we will be off to Milton. I hope that her being summoned is not a horrible sign."

"I think not," Edith replied calmly, "but here, my dear husband took down the address. She lives just down the street from where we went driving the other day. You remember?"

"Yes," Margaret nodded, "though an official dwelling number would do well."

"Oh oui!" Edith stood and ushered Sholto into the house, "I will do just that!"

Margaret, alone now, was left to contemplate her mother in laws fate, and she wondered at the twinge of pity she felt rise into her throat. She would not have been seen to care about the elder Mrs Thornton a year ago, though she always had kept a place in her heart since her tender treatment of her late mother. John would be very upset, she knew, and so when Edith returned, she ordered a maid to pack her bags and took off towards this unknown woman in the Lennox's plush carriage.

When she reached the residence, she found it to be a small but well manicured home with a large garden and a well tended hedgerow. A serving boy came to meet her at the door, and she followed him into a small but cozy sitting room where she awaited her aunt in law.

The woman in question came down in good time on her valet's arm, wearing a concentrated frown in her wrinkled face, so much softer and kinder than the tired lines that covered Hannah Thornton.

"I am Julia," she said in a slow drawl, being led to sit beside Margaret on the settee. "You must be my nephews wife."

"Yes," Margaret was surprised at her pale blue gaze, though she was sure the woman was blind.

"Well then, it must be a case of my sister," Julia Bowd replied, "she wants me in Milton?"

"Why... yes," Margaret could barely explain without having this woman's sharp mind at hers, "she has had an affliction of the heart and John asked me to come and get you."

"I see," she smiled fondly at this, "he has always been kind to me. So I am to go with you as my nursemaid?"

"I beg pardon?" Margaret asked.

"I am, as you should know, blinkered blind, and I cannot board a train led alone a coach on my own. I could ask my maid Lucy to come along, but she would need time to prepare as she is visiting her mother in the country. I will have Edgar, my valet come, as I see there is no time."

"No, I don't think so either," Margaret shook her head, for no ones benefit but her own.

"I sent a wedding gift," Julia Bowd mused, "I wonder if you got it. It was a little thing for the house, a vase Lucy picked out for me."

"The one with the delft blue painting on it? Yes, it sits on the mantle in our parlor."

"I do hope the ceremony was good, for I was tied up here dealing with an illness. So, Hannah wants me to come home then," Julia motioned for her valet to come hither, and took his arm. "Very well. I will have Edgar prepare my things and I will meet you down here tomorrow morning. Does that suit you?"

"Very well," Margaret replied, "Good day Miss Bowd. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"And you, dear," Julia smiled.

With that Margaret left the house and went on her way back to Edith's. There she sat with her cousin for a long while, nothing much to do but wait. She really did hope that Mrs Thornton would be alright, if not for her sake than for John's. She had begun to feel the baby kick quite strongly, and she put one hand on her stomach as if to quiet it. Perhaps it knew its grandmother was in peril, too.

"What a queer feeling," she commented at Edith's concerned gaze, "it is as if it wishes to come out right now and take a run in Hyde Park."

"They do that, you know," Edith's eyes grew merry once more, "with my little Sholto I was quite sure that he would never be tamed."

"Yes," Margaret said with an air of tiredness that Edith could not miss, "I've asked John this, but do you think I will have a boy or a girl?"

"There is a fifty percent chance of either, I suppose," Edith shrugged, "but I hope you have a girl. That way, if your mother in law does not improve you may name it for her. That would please John, I think."

"Oh I cannot imagine that!" Margaret exclaimed, "I do so hope she recovers. John would be inconsolable and I want my child to have at least one grandparent left to see it. Beside it does not seem too urgent. Maybe Mrs Thornton has asked for her sister out of a desire to see her, not because she is failing."

"I hope you are right," Edith replied, "but that is an issue for the morning. Get some sleep and we'll go from there."

**AN: Short chapter but many ideas coming out of it. R&R for more soon!**


	17. Chapter 17 The Old Man's Friend

**Hello Again! Thanks to all for reviewing and following and favoriting my story! Sorry I have been gone for so long, but it was necessary. So, here she is!**

When Margaret, Julia Bowd, and company arrived in Milton, they found John, ashen faced and nervous looking. There were deep black circles under his eyes and his hair was in disarray around his face, giving him a gaunt, haunted appearance.

He gave Margaret a relieved kiss when they met him at the door, and then went to his poor aunt and embraced her quickly, but warmly.

"Aunty," he said, taking Julia by the arm and leading her towards the guest bedroom where he had insisted his mother stay, "please. I believe she may be failing."

Margaret paled at this, and glanced around for Fanny, whom she found sitting silently in the parlor, hands clasped tight on her lap and bonnet strings loose around her face. She had forgotten to take it off.

With gentle hands, Margaret removed the offending garment and at that moment Fanny looked up at her, those bright, pale eyes so much like her mother and burst into tears. Forgetting the bonnet, Margaret set it down and hugged her sister in law, feeling the warmth of her tears through the thin vest she wore.

Fanny sobbed for a minute, then, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, chocked out a little thank you.

"I feel as if she has already gone," Fanny moaned, "but I know she has not."

"What has she taken?" Margaret asked, brow furrowed.

"The doctor says pneumonia," Fanny hung her head.

Margaret held her sigh.

"Do you know how she contracted it?"

"Walking in the rain! We told her not to, but she said she was strong enough and didn't need a coach."

"Oh dear," Margaret bit her lip, "so her condition has not improved?"

"No! No!" Fanny shook her head, letting a tumble of blond curls loose on her shoulders.

"Alright Fanny," Margaret gave her a little pat on the hand. "All is not lost. I will go in and see what I can do." With that, Margaret quit the parlour and was about to enter Hannah Thornton's sickroom when she was stopped by a doctor she recognized as Smithson from the village.

"Mrs. Thornton," he said, "I must advise you not to enter the room. You would be putting your child in danger if you, too, contracted the infection."

"Oh but I must see her," Margaret attempted to sidestep him, "I may be able to help."

"It is a long illness," Smithson blocked her and crossed his arms. "She will not die tonight, nor tomorrow. You must stay away until your child is born."

"What of my husband then?" Margaret demanded, attempting a look at him though the door. All she saw was darkness but for a small lamp by Mrs Thornton's bed.

"He may see her, but must wash his hands and change his clothes before coming into any room you are in."

"How silly," Margaret's lips drew into a hard line. "Fine then, what have you given her?"

"Hot blankets, garlic and onion in honey. Bed rest too, Mrs Thornton. Tis all we can do now."

"But tell me," Margaret lowered her voice so only she and the doctor could hear, "how bad is she really?"

"Tis the old man's friend," Dr Smithson shook his head sadly, "She will most likely not live to see your child."

At that, Margaret's eyes grew wide and her voice took on a desperate edge, "no," she said, "surely there must be something you can do."

"Nothing," Dr Smithson replied, pulling at his mustache, "we must just let her sleep and we must pray for her. Hannah Thornton's a good woman, Missus. If God will take her then she must go."

"But she was so healthy," Margaret shook her head in wonderment as she heard the doctor close the front door behind him, "why now?"

Without wishing to disturb Julia or her mother in law, Margaret went upstairs into her bedroom and found, to her surprise John, changed like the doctor said, his waistcoat thrown carelessly across the dresser. His face was in his hands and when he looked up his eyes were puffy and tear streaked.

"Oh darling," Margaret rushed to his side, her heart breaking to see him so distressed, "my darling, we should pray."

John turned to her, and she took a small wooden cross from beside their bed, holding it so tight she felt the oak dig into her palm. He bowed his head, and she put hers on his shoulder, saying the words slowly and deliberately.

"Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come I will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespassed against us..." she continued on, and when she was finished, added in, "and pray for Hannah Thornton in her hour of need. May you deliver her into health and salvation."

"Oh Maggie," John's voice was tight and he found her face with his hands, as if her solid existence was the sole thing keeping him from oblivion, "she didn't tell anyone. She said she was well, but I knew she was not."

"There is still hope," Margaret insisted, refusing the believe that some higher power would not deliver her mother in law and let her see her grandchildren grow.

"What will we do without her?" John ignored her, "when we need her? When our baby asks about her?"

"Hush now!" Margaret scolded him, the fear of losing control sliding like hot irons over her soul, "she will live. We will make her live here from now on so we can watch her. There is nothing to fear."

John did not answer her this time, for it was plain he wished to believe her, but took her in his arms and buried his face in her hair, his nearness enough. They stayed like that for some time, until Margaret ordered him to get some sleep. He had had none since her leaving to London and his mother's illness, so when she had gotten him down to his tunic and breeches he fell back against the pillows and was soon thrown into a restless sleep.

Margaret left him then, going downstairs to tell Fanny to go home and see her baby. She would call if there was anything the matter or news on her ailing mother.

She called the servants, had them prepare a strong broth of garlic and onion, and ordered them to take the best care they could of their new charge. She then went to Mary, who they had kept on as a scullery maid, and told her where to put Julia's valet, Edgar for the night. Mary complied with a bow, and Margaret, not tired from the day, found solace in the vacated parlour where she sat and stared pensively at the dark street beyond the house, where the flickering gaslights cast ghostly shadows upon the asphalt.

She was surprised, therefore, when she heard the quite voice of Julia, who came to sit at her side in a fabulous white nightgown, frills and bows tucked into the sleeves and silk lining the hem. Margaret wondered idly why someone had not advised her against the purchase of such a garment, and before she could comment, Julia supplied,

"It looks a fright, I am sure, but I like the feel of the linen and lace. It was a gift from Hannah you know." There was a silence, and the old woman stared helpless into the streetlamp, the reflection glowing in her eyes.

"I knew she was sick," Julia shook her head, "but she wouldn't say so. When she was a child she caught something—I cannot recall what, but when she did the doctor warned her that this might happen if she did not stay out of the cold and rain... but who does she believe?" Julia paused and beckoned to the shadowy figure of Edgar, who had not gone to sleep but stood with a glass of wine.

"Herself and God," she took a gulp. "Always been that way, my sister."

"Is she really that poorly?" Margaret asked, a plea in her voice.

"Aye," Julia straightened out her gown with a little sniff, "that she is. If she wanted me here there would have been no other reason than to see me in her final hours. I wish they weren't—," Julia's eyes were wet now, and her little face creased with emotion, "I have seen so many loved ones go too soon. First with our brother, then his son and poor wife, and now perhaps Hannah. When shall it be my turn?" Julia turned her face to the sky, "Me, the old cripple who never married and was never good to anyone but her..." she broke off and Margaret saw the tears begin to fall, something that had begun to seem common in that new house of hers. "You better hurry up and have that babe, mind," she collected herself for a moment, "Hannah says she'll be damned if she goes without seeing the little snipe."

"I wish I could do something," Margaret put her hands on her swollen belly, "but I cannot. When the baby wants out, it will come."

"Aye, aye, darling," Julia nodded sympathetically, "it will do as it wishes. I hope she sees it."

"So do I," Margaret began to fear that her wish would not come true, "oh I wish it like I have never wished for anything before. Pray for me, Miss Bowd?"

"Call me Aunt Julia," Julia commented, "and yes, I will pray." She finished off her wine, and found Margaret's hand. "Please, let it be late," she whispered, "Hannah will not go without seeing it, and that means I may have a few more days with her."

"But the baby might not be born for weeks," Margaret said in despair. "The doctor doesn't seem to think she can hold on."

"Well he doesn't know Hannah like I do," Julia replied assuredly.

Margaret sincerely hoped she was right.

**AN: so no baby yet, and some peril with Mrs Thornton Senior! R&R! (I promise this time I'll be snappy with updating—(probably) within the week if people would like more!)**


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